BANCROFT 
LIBRARY 

THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 


BY  O.^/FITZGERALD 
H 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY  BISHOP  GEORGE  F.  PIERCE. 


The  bearded  men  in  rude  attire, 

H '/'///.  iter'-e*  <>f  *!f<'l  a /n!  /i  carts  of  fire, 
The  WO  in  en  fen'  luf  fair  ami  .w/vvY, 
Like,  nharimvii  rixi<nia  <liin  and  fleet, 
Aijnin  I  $t'<\  iujn'i/i  I  lit'itr, 
As  dnu'n  the  jHixt.  I  dinit i/  jteer, 
And  muse  o'er  buried  joy  and  pain, 
And  tread  the  hilh  of  youth  aijain. 


SOUTHERN  METHODIST  PUBLISHING  HOUSE, 

NASHVILLE,   TENN. 

1882. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1881,  by 

O.  P.  FITZGERALD, 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


A  WORD. 


\- 


are  usually  anticlimaxes.  I  never  did 
like  them.  Yet  here  I  am  again  before  the  public 
with  another  book  of  "CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES."  The 
kind  treatment  given  to  the  former  volume,  of  which  six 
editions  have  been  printed  and  sold;  the  expressed  wishes 
of  many  friends  who  have  said,  Give  us  another  book; 
and  my  own  impulse,  have  induced  me  to  venture  upon  a 
second  appearance.  If  much  of  the  song  is  in  the  minor 
key,  it  had  to  be  so:  these  Sketches  are  from  real  life,  and 
"all  lives  are  tragedies."  THE  AUTHOR. 

Nashville,  September,  1881. 


INTKODUCTIOK 


n^HE  first  issue  of  the  "California  Sketches"  was  very  popular, 
deservedly  so.    The  distinguished  Author  has  prepared  a  Sec- 
ond Series.    In  this  fact  the  reading  public  will  rejoice. 

In  these  books  we  have  the  romance  and  prestige  of  fiction;  the  " 
thrill  of  incident  and  adventure;  the  wonderful  phases  of  society 
in  a  new  country,  and  under  the  pressure  of  strong  and  peculiar 
excitements;  human  character  loose  from  the  restraints  of  an  old 
civilization — a  settled  order  of  things;  individuality  unwarped  by 
imitation — free,  varied,  independent.  The  materials  are  rich,  and 
they  are  embodied  in  a  glowing  narrative.  The  writer  himself  lived 
amid  the  scenes  and  the  people  he  describes,  and,  as  a  citizen,  a 
preacher,  and  an  editor,  was  an  important  factor  among  the  forces 
destined  to  mold  the  elements  which  were  to  be  formulated  in  the 
politics  of  the  State  and  the  enterprises  of  the  Church.  A  close 
observer,  gifted  with  a  keen  discrimination  and  retentive  memory, 
.a  decided  relish  for  the  ludicrous  and  the  sportive,  and  always  ready 
to  give  a  religious  turn  to  thought  and  conversation,  he  is  admi- 
rably adapted  to  portray  and  recite  what  he  saw,  heard,  and  felt. 

These  Sketches  furnish  good  reading  for  anybody.  For  the  young 
they  are  charming,  full  of  entertainment,  and  not  wanting  in  moral 
instruction.  They  will  gratify  the  taste  of  those  who  love  to  read, 
and,  what  is  more  important,  beget  the  appetite  for  books  among 
the  dull  and  indifferent.  He  who  can  stimulate  children  and  young 
men  and  women  to  read  renders  a  signal  service  to  society  at  large. 
Mental  growth  depends  much  upon  reading,  and  the  fertilization  of 
the  original  soil  by  the  habit  wisely  directed  connects  vitally  with 
the  outcome  and  harvest  of  the  future. 

Dr.  Fitzgerald  is  doing  good  service  in  the  work  already  done, 
and  I  trust  the  patronage  of  the  people  will  encourage  him  to  give 
us  another  and  another  of  the  same  sort.  At  my  house  we  all  read 
the  "  California  Sketches  "—old  and  young— and  long  for  more. 

G.  F.  PIERCE. 


CONTENTS. 


DICK 7 

THE  DIGGERS 15 

THE  CALIFORNIA  MAD-HOUSE 30 

SAN  QUENTIN 41 

"CORRALED" 51 

THE  REBLOOMING 62 

THE  EMPEROR  NORTON 71 

CAMILLA  CAIN 79 

LONE  MOUNTAIN 82 

N  I:\VTOX 92 

THE  CALIFORNIA  POLITICIAN 99 

OLD  MAN  LOWRY 113 

SUICIDE  IN  CALIFORNIA 120 

FATHER  FISHER 133 

JACK  WHITE 145 

THE  RABBI 153 

MY  MINING  SPECULATION 161 

MIKE  REESE 166 

UNCLE  NOLAN 175 

BUFFALO  JONES 181 

TOD  ROBINSON 189 

AH  LEE 198 

THE  CLIMATE  OF  CALIFORNIA 204 


6 


CONTENTS. 


AFTER  THE  STORM 212 

BISHOP  KAVANAUGH  IN  CALIFORNIA 214 

SANDERS 229 

A  DAY 238 

WINTER-BLOSSOMED 248 

A  VIRGINIAN  IN  CALIFORNIA 257 

AT  THE  END 263 


DICK. 

DICK  was  a  Califbrnian.     We  made  his  ac- 
quaintance in  Sonora  about  a  month  before 
Christmas,  Anno  Domini  1855.     This  is  the  way  it 
happened : 

At  the  request  of  a  number  of  families,  the  lady 
who  presided  in  the  curious  little  parsonage  near 
the  church  on  the  hill-side  had  started  a  school  for 
little  girls.  The  public  schools  might  do  for  the 
boys,  but  were  too  mixed  for  their  sisters — so  they 
thought.  Boys  could  rough  it — they  were  a  rough 
set,  any  way — but  the  girls  must  be  raised  accord- 
ing to  the  traditions  of  the  old  times  and  the  old 
homes.  That  was  the  view  taken  of  the  matter 
then,  and  from  that  day  to  this  the  average  Cali- 
fornia girl  has  been  superior  to  the  average  Cali- 
fornia boy.  The  boy  gets  his  bias  from  the  street ; 
the  girl,  from  her  mother  at  home.  The  boy  plunges 
into  the  life  that  surges  around  him;  the  girl  only 
feels  the  touch  of  its  waves  as  they  break  upon  the 


8  CALIFORNIA  SKKTCHKS. 

embankments  of  home.  The  boy  gets -more  of  the 
father;  the  girl  gets  more  of  the  mother.  This 
may  explain  their  relative  superiority.  The  school 
for  girls  was  started  on  condition  that  it  should  be 
free,  the  proposed  teacher  refusing  all  compensa- 
tion. That  part  of  the  arrangement  was  a  failure, 
for  at  the  end  of  the  first  month  every  little  girl 
brought  a  handful  of  money,  and  laid  it  on  the 
teacher's  desk.  It  must  have  been  a  concerted 
matter.  That  quiet,  unselfish  woman  had  suddenly 
become  a  money-maker  in  spite  of  herself.  (Use 
was  found  for  the  coin  in  the  course  of  events.) 
The  school  was  opened  with  a  Psalm,  a  prayer,  and 
a  little  song  in  which  the  sweet  voices  of  the  lit- 
tle Jewish,  Spanish,  German,  Irish,  and  American 
maidens  united  heartily.  Dear  children  !  they  are 
scattered  now.  Some  of  them  have  died,  and  some 
of  them  have  met  with  what  is  worse  than  death. 
There  was  one  bright  Spanish  girl,  slender,  grace- 
ful as  a  willow,  with  the  fresh  Castilian  blood  man- 
tling her  cheeks,  her  bright  eyes  beaming  with  mis- 
chief and  affection.  She  was  a  beautiful  child, 
and  her  winning  ways  made  her  a  pet  in  the  little 
school.  But  surrounded  as  the  bright,  beautiful 
girl  was,  Satan  had  a  mortgage  on  her  from  her 
birth,  and  her  fate  was  too  dark  and  sad  to  be  told 
in  these  pages.  She  inherited  evil  condition,  and 
perhaps  evil  blood,  and  her  evil  life  seemed  to  be 


DK-K.  9 

inevitable.  Poor  child  of  sin,  whose  very  beauty 
was  thy  curse,  let  the  curtain  fall  upon  thy  late 
and  name;  we  leave  thee  in  the  hands  of  the  pity- 
ing Christ,  who  hath  said,  "Where  little  is  given 
little  will  be  required.'7  Little  was  given  thee  in 
the  way  of  opportunity,  for  it  was  a  mother's  hand 
that  bound  thee  with  the  chains  of  evil. 

Among  the  children  that  came  to  that  remark- 
able academy  on  the  hill  was  little  Mary  Kinneth, 
a  thin,  delicate  child,  with  mild  blue  eyes,  flaxen 
hair,  a  peach  complexion,  and  the  blue  veins  on 
her  temples  that  are  so  often  the  sign  of  delicacy  of 
organization  and  the  presage  of  early  death.  Mike 
Kinneth,  her  father,  was  a  drinking  Irishman,  a 
good -hearted  fellow  when  sober,  but  pugnacious 
and  disposed  to  beat  his  wife  when  drunk.  The 
poor  woman  came  over  to  see  me  one  day.  She 
had  been  crying,  and  there  was  an  ugly  bruise  on 
her  cheek. 

"  Your  riverence  will  excuse  me,"  she  said,  courte- 
sying,  "but  I  wish  you  would  come  over  and  spake 
a  word  to  me  husband.  Mike 's  a  kind,  good  cray- 
thur  except  when  he  is  dhrinking,  but  then  he  is 
the  very  Satan  himself." 

"Did  he  give  you  that  bruise  on  your  face,  Mrs. 
Kinneth?" 

"Yis;  he  came  home  last  night  mad  with  the 
whisky,  and  wras  breaking  ivery  thing  in  the  house. 


10  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

I  tried  to  stop  him,  and  thin  he  bate  me — O!  he 
never  did  that  before !  My  heart  is  broke ! " 

Here  the  poor  woman  broke  down  and  cried, 
hiding  her  face  in  her  apron. 

"Little  Mary  was  asleep,  and  she  waked  up 
frightened  and  crying  to  see  her  father  in  such  a 
way.  Seeing  the  child  seemed  to  sober  him  a  lit- 
tle, and  he  stumbled  on  to  the  bed,  and  fell  asleep. 
He  was  always  kind  to  the  child,  dhruuk  or  sober. 
And  there  is  a  good  heart  in  him  if  he  will  only 
stay  away  from  the  dhrink." 

"  Would  he  let  me  talk  to  him?" 

"  Yis;  we  belong  to  the  old  Church,  but  there  is 
no  priest  here  now,  and  the  kindness  your  lady  has 
shown  to  little  Mary  has  softened  his  heart  to  ye 
both.  And  I  think  he  feels  a  little  sick  and  ashamed 
this  mornin',  and  he  will  listen  to  kind  words  now 
if  iver." 

I  went  to  see  Mike,  and  found  him  half-sick  and 
in  a  penitent  mood.  He  called  me  "  Father  Fitz- 
gerald," and  treated  me  with  the  utmost  polite- 
ness and  deference.  I  talked  to  him  about  little 
Mary,  and  his  warm  Irish  heart  opened  to  me  at 
once. 

"She  is  a  good  child,  your  riverence,  and  shame 
on  the  father  that  would  hurt  or  disgrace  her ! " 

The  tears  stood  in  Mike's  eyes  as  he  spoke  the 
words. 


DICK.  n 

"All  the  trouble  comes  from  the  whisky.  Why 
not  give  it  up?" 

"By  the  help  of  God  I  will!"  said  Mike,  grasp- 
ing my  hand  with  energy. 

And  he  did.  I  confess  that  the  result  of  my  visit 
exceeded  my  hopes.  Mike  kept  away  from  the  sa- 
loons, worked  steadily,  little  Mary  had  no  lack  of 
new  shoes  and  neat  frocks,  and  the  Kinneth  family 
were  happy  in  a  humble  way.  Mike  always  seemed 
glad  to  see  me,  and  greeted  me  warmly. 

One  morning  about  the  last  of  November  there 
was  a  knock  at  the  door  of  the  little  parsonage. 
Opening  the  door,  there  stood  Mrs.  Kinneth  with  a 
turkey  under  her  arm. 

"  Christmas  will  soon  be  coming,  and  I  Ve  brought 
ye  a  turkey  for  your  kindness  to  little  Mary  and 
your  good  talk  to  Mike.  He  has  not  touched  a 
dhrop  since  the  blissed  day  ye  spake  to  him.  Will 
ye  take  the  turkey,  and  my  thanks  wid  it?" 

The  turkey  was  politely  and  smilingly  accepted, 
and  Mrs.  Kinneth  went  away  looking  mightily 
pleased. 

I  extemporized  a  little  coop  for  our  turkey. 
Having  but  little  mechanical  ingenuity,  it  was  ;i 
difficult  job,  but  it  resulted  more  satisfactorily 
than  did  my  attempt  to  make  a  door  for  the  min- 
iature kitchen  attached  to  the  parsonage.  My  ob- 
ject was  to  nail  some  cross-pieces  on  some  plain 


12  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

boards,  hang  it  on  hinges,  and  fasten  it  on  the  in- 
side by  a  leather  strap  attached  to  a  nail.  The 
model  in  my  mind  was,  as  the  reader  sees,  of  the 
most  simple  and  primitive  pattern.  I  spent  all  my 
leisure  time  for  a  week  at  work  on  that  door.  I 
spoiled  the  lumber,  I  blistered  my  hands,  I  broke 
several  dollars'  worth  of  carpenter's  tools,  which  I 
had  to  pay,  and — then  I  hired  a  man  to  make  that 
door !  This  was  my  last  effort  in  that  line  of  things, 
excepting  the  turkey-coop,  which  was  the  very  last. 
It  lasted  four  days,  at  the  end  of  which  time  it  just 
gave  way  all  over,  and  caved  in.  Fortunately,  it 
was  no  longer  needed.  Our  turkey  would  not  leave 
us.  The  parsonage  fare  suited  him,  and  he  staid, 
and  throve,  and  made  friends. 

We  named  him  Dick.  He  is  the  hero  of  this 
Sketch.  Dick  was  intelligent,  sociable,  and  had  a 
good  appetite.  He  would  eat  any  thing,  from  a 
crust  of  bread  to  the  pieces  of  candy  that  the  school- 
girls would  give  him  as  they  passed.  He  became 
as  gentle  as  a  dog,  and  would  answer  to  his  name. 
He  had  the  freedom  of  the  town,  and  went  where 
he  pleased,  returning  at  meal-times,  and  at  night 
to  roost  on  the  western  end  of  the  kitchen-roof. 
He  would  eat  from  our  hands,  looking  at  us  with 
a  sort  of  human  expression  in  his  shiny  eyes.  If 
he  were  a  hundred  yards  away,  all  we  had  to 
do  was  to  go  to  the  door  and  call  out,  "Dick!" 


DICK.  13 

"Dick!'7  once  or  twice,  and  here  he  would  come, 
stretching  his  long  legs,  and  saying,  "Got,"  "oot," 
"not"  (is  that  the  wray  to  spell  it?).  He  got  to 
like  going  about  with  me.  He  would  go  with  me 
to  the  post-office,  to  the  market,  and  sometimes  he 
would  accompany  me  in  a  pastoral  visit.  Dick  was 
well  known  and  popular.  Even  the  bad  boys  of 
the  towrn  did  not  throw  stones  at  him.  His  ruling 
passion  was  the  love  of  eating.  He  ate  between 
meals.  He  ate  all  that  was  offered  to  him.  Dick 
was  a  pampered  turkey,  and  made  the  most  of  his 
good  luck  and  popularity.  He  was  never  in  low 
spirits,  and  never  disturbed  except  when  a  dog 
came  about  him.  He  disliked  dogs,  and  seemed  to 
distrust  them. 

The  days  rolled  by,  and  Dick  was  fat  and  happy. 
It  was  the  day  before  Christmas.  We  had  asked 
two  bachelors  to  take  Christmas-dinner  \vith  us, 
having  room  and  chairs  for  just  two  more  persons. 
(One  of  our  four  chairs  was  called  a  stool— it  had 
a  bottom  and  three  legs,  one  of  which  was  a  little 
shaky,  and  no  back.)  There  was  a  constraint  upon 
us  both  all  day.  I  knew  what  was  the  matter,  but 
said  nothing.  About  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
Dick's  mistress  sat  down  by  me,  and,  after  a  pause, 
remarked : 

"  Do  you  know  that  to-morrow  is  Christmas-day  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  know  it." 


14  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

Another  pause.     I  had  nothing  to  say  just  then. 

"  Well,  if — if — if  any  thing  is  to  be  done  about 
that  turkey,  it  is  time  it  were  done." 

"Do  you  mean  Dick?" 

"  Yes,"  with  a  little  quiver  in  her  voice. 

"I  understand  you — you  mean  to  kill  him — 
poor  Dick!  the  only  pet  we  ever  had." 

She  broke  right  down  at  this,  and  began  to  cry. 

"What  is  the  ^natter  here?"  said  our  kind,  ener- 
getic neighbor,  Mrs.  T ,  who  came  in  to  pay  us 

one  of  her  informal  visits.  She  was  from  Phila- 
delphia, and,  though  a  gifted  woman,  with  a  wide 
range  of  reading  and  observation  of  human  life, 
was  not  a  sentimentalist.  She  laughed  at  the  weep- 
ing mistress  of  the  parsonage,  and,  going  to  the 
back-door,  she  called  out: 

"Dick!"  "Dick!" 

Dick,  who  was  taking  the  air  high  up  on  the  hill- 
side, came  at  the  call,  making  long  strides,  and 
sounding  his  "Oot,"  "oot,"  "oot,"  which  was  the 
formula  by  which  he  expressed  all  his  emotions, 
varying  only  the  tone. 

Dick,  as  he  stood  with  outstretched  neck  and  a 
look  of  expectation  in  his  honest  eyes,  was  scooped 
up  by  our  neighbor,  and  carried  off  down  the  hill 
in  the  most  summary  manner. 

In  about  an  hour  Dick  was  brought  back.  He 
was  dressed.  He  was  also  stuffed. 


THE  DIGGEKS. 


THE  Digger  Indian  holds  a  low  place  in  the 
scale  of  humanity.  He  is  not  intelligent ;  he 
is  not  handsome ;  he  is  not  very  brave.  He  stands 
near  the  foot  of  his  class,  and  I  fear  he  is  not  likely 
to  go  up  any  higher.  It  is  more  likely  that  the 
places  that  know  him  now  will  soon  know  him  no 
more,  for  the  reason  that  he  seems  readier  to  adopt 
the  bad  white  man's  whisky  and  diseases  than  the 
good  white  man's  morals  and  religion.  Ethnologic- 
ally  he  has  given  rise  to  much  conflicting  specula- 
tion, with  which  I  will  not  trouble  the  gentle  read- 
er. He  has  been  in  California  a  long  time,  and  he 
does  not  know  that  he  was  ever  anywhere  else.  His 
pedigree  does  not  trouble  him ;  he  is  more  concerned 
about  getting  something  to  eat.  It  is  not  because 
he  is  an  agriculturist  that  he  is  called  a  Digger, 
but  because  he  grabbles  for  wrild  roots,  and  has  a 
general  fondness  for  dirt.  I  said  he  was  not  hand- 
some, and  when  we  consider  his  rusty,  dark-brown 

(15) 


16  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

color,  his  heavy  features,  fishy  black  eyes,  coarse 
black  hair,  and  clumsy  gait,  nobody  will  dispute 
the  statement.  But  one  Digger  is  uglier  than  an- 
other, and  an  old  squaw  caps  the  climax. 

The  first  Digger  I  ever  saw  was  the  best -look- 
ing. He  had  picked  up  a  little  English,  and  loafed 
around  the  mining-camps  picking  up  a  meal  where 
he  could  get  it.  He  called  himself  "Captain 
Charley/'  and,  like  a  true  native  American,  was 
proud  of  his  title.  If  it  was  self-assumed,  he  was 
still  following  the  precedent  set  by  a  vast  host  of 
captains,  majors,  colonels,  and  generals,  who  never 
wore  a  uniform  or  hurt  anybody.  He  made  his 
appearance  at  the  little  parsonage  on  the  hill-side 
in  Sonora  one  day,  and,  thrusting  his  bare  head 
into  the  door,  he  said : 

"  Me  Cappin  Charley,"  tapping  his  chest  com- 
placently as  he  spoke. 

Returning  his  salutation,  I  waited  for  him  to 
speak  again. 

"You  got  grub — coche  carne?"  he  asked,  mix- 
ing his  Spanish  and  English. 

Some  food  was  given  him,  which  he  snatched 
rather  eagerly,  and  began  to  eat  at  once.  It  was 
evident  that  Captain  Charley  had  not  breakfasted 
that  morning.  He  wTas  a  hungry  Indian,  and  when 
he  got  through  his  meal  there  was  no  reserve  of 
rations  in  the  unique  repository  of  dishes  and  food 


TJIE  DIUGK'RS.  17 

which  has  been  mentioned  heretofore  in  these 
Sketches.  Peering  about  the  premises,  Captain 
Charley  made  a  discovery.  The  modest  little 
parsonage  stood  on  a  steep  incline,  the  upper  side 
resting  on  the  red  gravelly  earth,  while  the  lower 
side  was  raised  three  or  four  feet  from  the  ground. 
The  vacant  space  underneath  had  been  used  by 
our  several  bachelor  predecessors  as  a  receptacle* 
for  cast-off  clothing.  Malone,  Lockley,  and  Ev- 
ans, had  thus  disposed  of  their  discarded  apparel, 
and  Drury  Bond  and  one  or  two  other  miners  had 
also  added  to  the  treasures  that  caught  the  eye  of 
the  inquisitive  Digger.  It  was  a  museum  of  sar- 
torial curiosities  —  seedy  and  ripped  broadcloth 
coats,  vests,  and  pants,  flannel  mining-shirts  of  gay 
colors  and  of  different  degrees  of  wear  and  tear, 
linen  shirts  that  looked  like  battle-flags  that  had 
been  through  the  war,  and  old  shoes  and  boots  of 
all  sorts,  from  the  high  rubber  water-proofs  used  by 
miners  to  the  ragged  slippers  that  had  adorned  the 
feet  of  the  lonely  single  parsons  whose  names  are 
written  above. 

"Me  take  um?"  asked  Captain  Charley,  point- 
ing to  the  treasure  he  had  discovered. 

Leave  was  given,  and  Captain  Charley  lost  no 

time;   in   taking  possession  of  the   coveted  goods. 

lie  chuckled  to  himself  as  one  article  after  another 

was  drawn  forth  from  the  pile  which  seemed  to  be 

2 


18  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES, 

almost  inexhaustible.  When  he  had  gotten  all  out 
and  piled  up  together,  it  was  a  rare-looking  sight. 
"Mucho  bueno!"  exclaimed  Captain  Charley, 
as  he  proceeded  to  array  himself  in  a  pair  of  trou- 
sers. Then  a  shirt,  then  a  vest,  and  then  a  coat, 
were  put  on.  And  then  another,  and  another,  and 
yet  another  suit  was  donned  in  the  same  order. 
He  was  fast  becoming  a  "  big  Indian  "  indeed.  We 
looked  on  and  smiled,  sympathizing  with  the  evi- 
dent delight  of  our  visitor  in  his  superabundant 
wardrobe.  He  was  in  full-dress,  and  enjoyed  it, 
But  he  made  a  failure  at  one  point — his  feet  were 
too  large,  or  were  not  the  right  shape,  for  white 
men's  boots  or  shoes.  He  tried  several  pairs,  but 
his  huge  flat  foot  would  not  enter  them,  and  finally 
he  threw  down  the  last  one  tried  by  him  with  a 
Spanish  exclamation  not  fit  to  be  printed  in  these 
pages.  That  language  is  a  musical  one,  but  its 
oaths  are  very  harsh  in  sound.  A  battered  "  stove- 
pipe" hat  was  found  among  the  spoils  turned  over 
to  Captain  Charley.  Placing  it  on  his  head  jaunt- 
ily,  he  turned  to  us,  saying,  Adios,  and  went  strut- 
ting down  the  street,  the  picture  of  gratified  van- 
ity. His  appearance  on  Washington  Street,  the 
main  thoroughfare  of  the  place,  thus  gorgeously 
and  abundantly  arrayed,  created  a  sensation.  It 
was  as  good  as  a  "show"  to  the  jolly  miners,  al- 
ways ready  to  be  amused.  Captain  Charley  was 


THE  DIGGERS.  19 

known  to  most  of  them,  and  they  had  a  kindly 
feeling  for  the  good-natured  "fool  Injun,"  as  one 
of  them  called  him  in  my  hearing. 

The  next  Digger  I  noticed  was  of  the  gentler 
(hut  in  this  case  not  lovelier)  sex.  She  was  an  old 
squaw,  who  was  in  mourning.  The  sign  of  her 
grief  was  the  black  adobe  mud  spread  over  her 
face.  She  sat  all  day  motionless  and  speechless, 
gazing  up  into  the  sky.  Her  grief  was  caused  by 
the  death  of  a  child,  and  her  sorrowful  look  showed 
that  she  had  a  mother's  heart.  Poor,  degraded 
creature!  What  were  her  thoughts  as  she  sat 
there  looking  so  pitifully  up  into  the  silent,  far-off 
heavens?  All  the  livelong  day  she  gazed  thus 
fixedly  into  the  sky,  taking  no  notice  of  the  pass- 
ers-by, neither  speaking,  eating,  nor  drinking.  It 
was  a  custom  of  the  tribe,  but  its  peculiar  signifi- 
cance is  unknown  to  me. 

It  was  a-  great  night  at  an  adjoining  camp  when 
the  old  chief  died.  It  was  made  the  occasion  of  a 
fearful  orgy.  Dry  wood  and  brush  were  gathered 
into  a  huge  pile,  the  body  of  the  dead  chief  was 
placed  upon  it,  and  the  mass  set  on  fire.  As  the 
flames  blazed  upward  with  a  roar,  the  Indians, 
several  hundred  in  number,  broke  forth  into  wild 
wailings  and  howlings,  the  shrill  soprano  of  the 
women  rising  high  above  the  din,  as  they  marched 
around  the  burning  pyre.  Fresh  fuel  was  supplied 


20  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES, 

from  time  to  time,  and  all  night  long  the  flames 
lighted  up  the  surrounding  hills  which  echoed  with 
the  shouts  and  howls  of  the  savages.  It  was  a 
touch  of  pandemonium.  At  dawn  there  was  noth- 
ino"  left  of  the  dead  chief  but  ashes.  The  mourn- 

o 

ers  took  up  their  line  of  march  toward  the  Stan- 
islaus River,  the  squaws  bearing  their  papooses  on 
their  backs,  the  " bucks"  leading  the  way. 

The  Digger  believes  in  a  future  life,  and  in  fut- 
ure rewards  and  punishments.  Good  Indians  and 
bad  Indians  are  subjected  to  the  same  ordeal  at 
death.  Each  one  is  rewarded  according  to  his 
deeds. 

The  disembodied  soul  comes  to  a  wide,  turbid 
river,  whose  angry  waters  rush  on  to  an  unknown 
destination,  roaring  and  foaming.  From  high 
banks  on  either  side  of  the  stream  is  stretched  a 
pole  smooth  and  small,  over  which  he  is  required 
to  walk.  Upon  the  result  of  this  post-mortem 
Blondinizing  his  fate  depends.  If  he  was  in  life 
a  very  good  Indian  he  goes  over  safely,  and  finds 
on  the*  other  side  a  paradise,  where  the  skies  are 
cloudless,  the  air  balmy,  the  flowers  brilliant  in 
color  and  sweet  in  perfume,  the  springs  many  and 
cool,  and  the  deer  plentiful  and  fat.  In  this  fair 
clime  there  are  no  bad  Indians,  no  briers,  no 
snakes,  no  grizzly  bears.  Such  is  the  paradise  of 
good  Diggers. 


THE  DIGGERS,  XI 

The  Indian  who  was  in  life  a  mixed  character, 
not  all  good  or  bad>  but  made  up  of  both,  starts 
across  the  fateful  river,  gets  on  very  well  until  he 
reaches  about  half-way  over,  when  his  head  be- 
comes dizzy,  and  he  tumbles  into  the  boiling  flood 
below.  He  swims  for  his  life.  (Every  Indian  on 
earth  can  swim,  and  he  does  not  forget  the  art  in 
the  world  of  spirits.)  Buffeting  the  waters,  he  is 
carried  swiftly  down  the  rushing  current,  and  at 
last  makes  the  shore,  to  find  a  country  which,  like 
his  former  life,  is  a  mixture  of  good  and  bad. 
Some  days  are  fair,  and  others  are  rainy  and  chilly ; 
flowers  and  brambles  grow  together;  there  are 
some  springs  of  water,  but  they  are  few,  and  not 
all  cool  and  sweet;  the  deer  are  fewr,  and  shy,  and 
loan,  and  grizzly  bears  roam  the  hills  and  valleys. 
This  is  the  limbo  of  the  moderately-wicked  Digger. 

The  very  bad  Indian,  placing  his  feet  upon  the 
attenuated  bridge  of  doom,  makes  a  few  steps 
forward,  stumbles,  falls  into  the  whirling  waters 
below,  and  is  swept  downward  with  fearful  ve- 
locity. At  last,  with  desperate  struggles  he  half 
swims,  and  is  half  washed  ashore  on  the  same  side 
from  which  he  started,  to  find  a  dreary  land  where 
the  sun  never  shines,  and  the  cold  rains  always 
pour  down  from  the  dark  skies,  where  the  wTater  is 
brackish  and  foul,  where  no  flowers  ever  bloom, 
where  leagues  may  be  traversed  without  seeing  a 


22  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES, 

deer,  and  grizzly  bears  abound.  This  is  the  hell 
of  very  bad  Indians— and  a  very  bad  one  it  is. 

The  worst  Indians  of  all,  at  death,  are  trans- 
formed into  grizzly  bears. 

The  Digger  has  a  good  appetite,  and  he  is  not 
particular  about  his  eating.  He  likes  grasshop- 
pers, clover,  acorns,  roots,  and  fish.  The  flesh  of 
a  dead  mule,  horse,  cow,  or  hog,  does  not  come 
amiss  to  him— I  mean  the  flesh  of  such  as  die  nat- 
ural deaths.  He  eats  what  he  can  get,  and  all  he 
can  get.  In  the  grasshopper  season  he  is  fat  and 
flourishing.  In  the  suburbs  of  Sonora  I  came  one 
day  upon  a  lot  of  squaws,  who  were  engaged  in 
catching  grasshoppers.  Stretched  along  in  line, 
armed  with  thick  branches  of  pine,  they  threshed 
.  the  ground  in  front  of  them  as  they  advanced, 
driving  the  grasshoppers  before  them  in  constantly- 
increasing  numbers,  until  the  air  was  thick  with 
the  flying  insects.  Their  course  was  directed  to  a 
deep  gully,  or  gulch,  into  which  they  fell  exhaust- 
ed. It  was  astonishing  to  see  with  what  dexterity 
the  squaws  would  gather  them  up  and  thrust  them 
into  a  sort  of  covered  basket,  made  of  willow-twigs 
or  tule-grass,  while  the  insects  would  be  trying  to 
escape,  but  would  fall  back  unable  to  rise  above 
the  sides  of  the  gulch  in  which  they  had  been  en- 
trapped. The  grasshoppers  are  dried,  or  cured,  for 
winter  use.  A  white  man  who  had  tried  them  told 


THE  DIGGKRS*  23 

me  they  were  pleasant  eating,  having  a  flavor  very 
similar  to  that  of  a  good  shrimp.  (I  was  content 
to  take  his  word  for  it.) 

When  Bishop  Soule  was  in  California,  in  1853, 
he  paid  a  visit  to  a  Digger  campoody  (or  village) 
in  the  Calaveras  hills.  He  was  profoundly  inter- 
ested, and  expressed  an  ardent  desire  to  be  instru- 
mental in  the  conversion  of  one  of  these  poor  kin. 
It  was  yet  early  in  the  morning  when  the  Bishop 
and  his  party  arrived,  and  the  Diggers  were  not 
astir,  save  here  and  there .  a  squaw,  in  primitive 
array,  who  slouched  lazily  toward  a  spring  of  water 
hard  by.  But  soon  the  arrival  of  the  visitors  was 
made  known,  and  the  bucks,  squaws,  and  papooses, 
swarmed  forth.  They  cast  curious  looks  upon  the 
whole  party,  but  were  specially  struck  with  the 
majestic  bearing  of  the  Bishop,  as  were  the  pass- 
ing crowds  in  London,  who  stopped  in  the  streets 
to  gaze  with  admiration  upon  the  great  American 
preacher.  The  Digger  chief  did  not  conceal  his 
delight.  After  looking  upon  the  Bishop  fixedly 
for  some  moments,  he  went  up  to  him,  and  tapping 
first  his  own  chest  and  then  the  Bishop's,  he  said : 

"  Me  big  man — you  big  man ! " 

It  was  his  opinion  that  two  great  men  had  met, 
and  that  the  occasion  was  a  grand  one.  Moraliz- 
ers  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding,  greatness  is 
not  always  lacking  in  self-consciousness. 


24  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

"I  would  like  to  go  into  one  of  their  wigwams, 
or  huts,  and  see  how  they  really  live,"  said  the 
Bishop. 

"You  had  better  drop  that  idea,"  said  the  guide, 
a  white  man  who  knew  more  about  Digger  Indians 
than  was  good  for  his  reputation  and  morals,  but 
who  wras  a  good-hearted  fellow,  always  ready  to  do 
a  friendly  turn,  and  with  plenty  of  time  on  his 
hands  to  do  it.  The  genius  born  to  live  without 
work  will  make  his  way  by  his  wits,  whether  it  be 
in  the  lobby  at  Washington  City,  or  as  a  hanger- 
on  at  a  Digger  camp. 

The  Bishop  insisted  on  going  inside  the  chief's 
wigwam,  which  was  a  conical  structure  of  long 
tule-grass,  air-tight  and  weather-proof,  with  an 
aperture  in  front  just  large  enough  for  a  man's 
body  in  a  crawling  attitude.  Sacrificing  his  dig- 
nity, the  Bishop  wrent  down  on  all-fours,  and  then 
a  degree  lower,  and,  following  the  chief,  crawled 
in.  The  air  was  foul,  the  smells  were  strong,  and 
the  light  was  dim.  The  chief  proceeded  to  tender 
to  his  distinguished  guest  the  hospitalities  of  the 
establishment,  by  offering  to  share  his  breakfast 
with  him.  The  bill  of  fare  was  grasshoppers,  with 
acorns  as  a  side-dish.  The  Bishop  maintained  his 
dignity  as  he  squatted  there  in  the  dirt — his  dig- 
nity was  equal  to  any  test.  He  declined  the  grass- 
hoppers tendered  him  by  the  chief,  pleading  that 


TJIE  DwuK/fft.  25 


he  had  already  breakfasted,  but  watched  with 
peculiar  sensations  the  movements  of  his  host, 
as  handful  after  handful  of  the  crisp  and  juicy 
yryllm  mdgaris  were  crammed  into  his  capacious 
mouth,  and  swallowed.  What  he  saw  and  smelt, 
and  the  absence  of  fresh  air,  began  to  tell  upon 
the  Bishop  —  he  became  sick  and  pale,  while  a  gen- 
tle perspiration,  like  unto  that  felt  in  the  begin- 
ning of  seasickness,  beaded  his  noble  forehead. 
With  slow  dignity,  but  marked  emphasis,  he 
spoke  : 

"  Brother  Bristow,  I  propose  that  we  retire/7 
They  retired,  and  there  is  no  record  that  Bishop 
Soule  ever  expressed  the  least  desire  to  repeat  his 
visit  to  the  interior  of  a  Digger  Indian's  abode. 

The  whites  had  many  difficulties  with  the  Dig- 
gers in  the  early  days.  In  most  cases  I  think  the 
whites  were  chiefly  to  blame.  It  is  very  hard  for 
the  strong  to  be  just  to  the  weak.  The  weakest 
creature,  pressed  hard,  will  strike  back.  White 
women  and  children  wrere  massacred  in  retaliation 
for  outrages  committed  upon  the  ignorant  Indians 
by  white  outlaws.  Then  there  would  be  a  sweep- 
ing destruction  of  Indians  by  the  excited  whites, 
who  in  those  days  made  rather  light  of  Indian 
shooting.  The  shooting  of  a  "buck"  was  about 
the  same  thing,  whether  it  was  a  male  Digger  or  a 
deer. 


26  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

» 

'•"There  is  not  much  fight  in  a  Digger  unless 
he's  got  the  dead-wood  on  you,  and  then  he'll 
make  it  rough  for  you.  But  these  Injuns  are  of 
no  use,  and  I  'd  about  as  soon  shodf  one  of  them 
as  a  coyote"  (ki-o-te). 

The  speaker  was  a  very  red-faced,  sandy-haired 
man,  with  blood-shot  blue  eyes,  whom  I  met  on  his 
return  to  the  Humboldt  country  after  a  visit  to 
San  Francisco. 

"Did  you  ever  shoot  an  Indian?"  I  asked. 

"I  first  went  up  into  the  Eel  River  country  in 
'46,"  he  answered.  "They  give  us  a  lot  of  trouble 
in  them  days.  They  would  steal  cattle,  and  our 
boys  would  shoot.  But  we've  never  had  much 
difficulty  with  them  since  the  big  fight  we  had  with 
them  in  1849.  A  good  deal  of  devilment  had  been 
goin'  on  all  roun',  and  some  had  been  killed  on 
both  sides.  The  Injuns  killed  two  women  on  a 
ranch  in  the  valley,  and  then  we  sot  in  just  to  wipe 
'em  out.  Their  camp  was  in  a  bend  of  the  river, 
near  the  head  of  the  valley,  with  a  deep  slough  on 
the  right  flank.  There  was  about  sixty  of  us,  and 

Dave was  our  captain.  He  was  a  hard  rider, 

a  dead  shot,  and  not  very  tender-hearted.  The 
boys  sorter  liked  him,  but  kep'  a  sharp  eye  on  him, 
knowin'  he  was  so  quick  and  handy  with  a  pistol. 
Our  plan  was  to  git  to  their  camp  and  fall  on 
em  at  daybreak,  but  the  sun  was  risin'  just  as  we 


THE  DIGGERS.  27 

come  in  sight  of  it.  A  dog  barked,  and  Dave  sung 
out: 

"'Out  with  your  pistols  I  pitch  in,  and  give  'em 
the  hot  lead ! ' 

"In  we  galloped  at  full  speed,  and  as  the  Injuns 
come  out  to  see  what  was  up,  we  let  'em  have  it. 
We  shot  forty  bucks — about  a  dozen  got  away  by 
swiimnin'  the  river." 

"  Were  any  of  the  women  killed?" 

"A  few  were  knocked  over.  You  can't  be  par- 
ticular when  you  are  in  a  hurry;  and  a  squaw, 
when  her  blood  is  up,  will  fight  equal  to  a  buck." 

The  fellow  spoke  with  evident  pride,  feeling  that 
he  was  detailing  a  heroic  affair,  having  no  idea 
that  he  had  done  any  thing  wrong  in  merely  kill- 
ing "  bucks."  I  noticed  that  this  same  man  was 
very  kind  to  an  old  lady  who  took  the  stage  for 
Bloomfield — helping  her  into  the  vehicle,  and  look- 
ing after  her  baggage.  When  we  parted,  I  did 
not  care  to  take  the  hand  that  had  held  a  pistol 
that  morning  when  the  Digger  camp  was  "  wiped 
out." 

The  scattered  remnants  of  the  Digger  tribes 
were  gathered  into  a  reservation  in  Round  Valley, 
Mendocino  county,  north  of  the  Bay  of  San  Fran- 
cisco, and  were  there  taught  a  mild  form  of  agri- 
cultural life,  and  put  under  the  care  of  Govern- 
ment agents,  contractors,  and  soldiers,  with  about 


2S  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

the  usual  results.  One  agent,  who  was  also  a 
preacher,  took  several  hundred  of  them  into  the 
Christian  Church.  They  seemed  to  have  mastered 
the  leading  facts  of  the  gospel,  and  attained  con- 
siderable proficiency  in  the  singing  of  hymns.  Al- 
together, the  result  of  this  effort  at  their  conver- 
sion showed  that  they  were  human  beings,  and  as 
such  could  be  made  recipients  of  the  truth  and 
grace  of  God,  who  is  the  Father  of  all  the  fami- 
lies of  the  earth.  Their  spiritual  guide  told  me 
he  had  to  make  one  compromise  with  them — they 
would  dance.  Extremes  meet  —  the  fashionable 
white  Christians  of  our  gay  capitals  and  the  tawny 
Digger  exhibit  the  same  weakness  for  the  fascinat- 
ing exercise  that  cost  John  the  Baptist  his  head. 

There  is  one  thing  a  Digger  cannot  bear,  and 
that  is  the  comforts  and  luxuries  of  civilized  life. 
A  number  of  my  friends,  who  had  taken  Digger 
children  to  raise,  found  that  as  they  approached 
maturity  they  fell  into. a  decline  and  died,  in  most 
cases  of  some  pulmonary  affection.  The  only  way 
to  save  them  was  to  let  them  rough  it,  avoiding 
warm  bed-rooms  and  too  much  clothing.  A  Dig- 
ger girl  belonged  to  my  church  at  Santa  Rosa, 
and  was  a  gentle,  kind-hearted,  grateful  creature. 

She  was  a  domestic  in  the  family  of  Colonel  H . 

In  that  pleasant  Christian  household  she  developed 
into  a  pretty  fair  specimen  of  brunette  young 


THE  DIGGERS. 


20 


womanhood,  but  to  the  last  she  had  an  aversion 
to  wearing  shoes. 

The  Digger  seems  to  be  doomed.  Civilization 
kills  him;  and  if  he  sticks  to  his  savagery, he  will 
go  down  before  the  bullets,  whisky,  and  vices  of 
his  white  fellow-sinners. 


THE  CALIFOBNIA  MAP-HOUSE, 


ON  my  first  visit  to  the  State  Insane  Asylum, 
at  Stockton,  I  was  struck  by  the  beauty  of  a. 
boy  of  some  seven  or  eight  years,  who  was  moving 
about  the  grounds  clad  in  a  strait-jacket.  In  re^ 
ply  to  my  inquiries,  the  resident  physician  told  me 
his  history: 

"About  a  year  ago  he  was  on  his  way  to  Cali* 
forma  with  the  family  to  wThich  he  belonged.  He 
was  a  general  pet  among  the  passengers  on  the 
steamer.  Handsome,  confiding,  and  overflowing 
with  boyish  spirits,  everybody  had  a  smile  and  a 
kind  word  for  the  winning  little  fellow.  Even  the 
rough  sailors  would  pause  a  moment  to  pat  his 
curly  head  as  they  passed.  One  day  a  sailor,  yield* 
ing  to  a  playful  impulse  in  passing,  caught  up  the 
boy  in  his  arms,  crying: 

" '  I  am  going  to  throw  you  into  the  sea ! ' 
"  The  child  gave  one  scream  of  terror,  and  went 
into  convulsions.     When  the  paroxysm  subsided,, 
(30) 


THE  CALIFORNIA  MAD-HOUSE.          31 

he  opened  his  eyes  and  gazed  around  with  a  va- 
cant expression.  His  mother,  who  bent  over  him 
with  a  pale  face,  noticed  the  look,  and  almost 
screamc'd ; 

"'Tommy,  here  is  your  mother  —  don't  you 
know  me?' 

"The  child  gave  no  sign  of  recognition.  He 
never  knew  his  poor  mother  again.  He  was  lit- 
erally frightened  out  of  his  senses.  The  mother's 
anguish  was  terrible.  The  remorse  of  the  sailor 
for  his  thoughtless  freak  was  so  great  that  it  in 
some  degree  disarmed  the  indignation  of  the  pas- 
sengers and  crew.  The  child  had  learned  to  read, 
and  had  made  rapid  progress  in  the  studies  suited 
to  his  age,  but  all  was  swept  away  by  the  cruel 
blow.  He  was  unable  to  utter  a  word  intelligent-  . 
ly,  Since  he  has  been  here,  there  have  been  signs 
of  returning  mental  consciousness,  and  we  have 
begun  with  him  as  with  an  infant.  He  knows  and 
can  call  his  own  name,  and  is  now  learning  the 
alphabet/' 

"How  is  his  health?" 

"  His  health  is  pretty  good,  except  that  he  has 
occasional  convulsive  attacks  that  can  only  be 
controlled  by  the  use  of  powerful  opiates." 

I  was  glad  to  learn,  on  a  visit  made  two  years 
later,  that  the  unfortunate  boy  had  died. 

This  child  was  murdered  by  a  fool.     The  fools 


32  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

are  always  murdering  children,  though  the  work 
is  not  always  done  as  effectually  as  in  this  case. 
They  cripple  and  half  kill  them  by  terror.  There 
are  many  who  will  read  this  Sketch  who  will  carry 
to  the  grave,  and  into  the  world  of  spirits,  natures 
out  of  which  half  the*  sweetness,  and  brightness, 
and  beauty  has  been  crushed  by  ignorance  or 
brutality.  In  most  cases  it  is  ignorance.  The 
hand  that  should  guide,  smites;  the  voice  that 
should  soothe,  jars  the  sensitive  chords  that  are 
untuned  forever.  He  who  thoughtlessly  excites 
terror  in  a  child's  heart  is  unconsciously  doing 
the  devil's  work ;  he  that  does  it  consciously  is  a 
devil. 

"There  is  a  lady  here  whom  I  wish  you  would 
talk  to.  She  belongs  to  one  of  the  most  respecta- 
ble families  in  San  Francisco,  is  cultivated,  refined, 
and  has  been  the  center  of  a  large  and  loving  cir- 
cle. Her  monomania  is  spiritual  despair.  She 
thinks  she  has  committed  the  unpardonable  sin. 
There  she  is  now.  I  will  introduce  you  to  her. 
Talk  with  her,  and  comfort  her  if  you  can." 

She  was  a  tall,  well-formed  woman  in  black,  with 
all  the  marks  of  refinement  in  her  dress  and  bear- 
ing. She  was  walking  the  floor  to  and  fro  with 
rapid  steps,  wringing  her  hands,  and  moaning  pit- 
eously.  Indescribable  anguish  was  in  her  face 
• — it  was  a  hopeless  face.  It  haunted  my  thoughts 


THE  CALIFORNIA  MAD-HOUSE.          33 

for  many  days,  and  it  is  vividly  before  me  as  I 
write  now.  The  kind  physician  introduced  me, 
and  left  the  apartment. 

There  is  a  sacredness  about  such  an  interview 
that  inclines  me  to  veil  its  details. 

"  I  am  willing  to  talk  with  you,  sir,  and  appreciate 
your  motive,  but  I  understand  my  situation.  I 
have  committed  the  unpardonable  sin,  and  I  know 
there  is  no  hope  for  me." 

With  the  earnestness  excited  by  intense  sympa- 
thy, I  combated  her  conclusion,  and  felt  certain  that 
I  could  make  her  see  and  feel  that  she  had  given 
way  to  an  illusion.  She  listened  respectfully  to  all 
I  had  to  say,  and  then  said  again : 

"I  know  my  situation.  I  denied  my  Saviour 
after  all  his  goodness  to  me,  and  he  has  left  me 
forever." 

There  was  the  frozen  calmness  of  utter  despair 
in  look  and  tone.  I  left  her  as  I  found  her. 

"I  will  introduce  you  to  another  woman,  the 
opposite  of  the  poor  lady  you  have  just  seen.  She 
thinks  she  is  a  queen,  and  is  perfectly  harmless. 
You  must  be  careful  to  humor  her  illusion.  There 
she  is — let  me  present  you." 

She  was  a  woman  of  immense  size,  enormously 
fat,  with  broad  red  face,  and  a  self-satisfied  smirk, 
dressed  in  some  sort  of  flaming  scarlet  stuff,  pro- 
fusely tinseled  all  over,  making  a  gorgeously  ridic- 
3 


34  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

ulous  effect.  She  received  me  with  a  mixture  of 
mock  dignity  and  smiling  condescension,  and  sur- 
veying herself  admiringly,  she  asked : 

"How  do  you  like  my  dress?" 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  royalty  had  shown 
itself  not  above  the  little  weaknesses  of  human 
nature.  On  being  told  that  her  apparel  was  in- 
deed magnificent,  she  was  much  pleased,  and  drew 
herself  up  proudly,  and  was  a  picture  of  ecstatic 
vanity.  Are  the  real  queens  as  happy?  When 
they  lay  aside  their  royal  robes  for  their  grave- 
clothes,  will  not  the  pageantry  which  was  the 
glory  of  their  lives  seem  as  vain  as  that  of  this  tin- 
seled queen  of  the  mad-house  ?  Where  is  happiness, 
after  all?  Is  it  in  the  circumstances,  the  external 
conditions?  or,  is  it  in  the  mind?  Such  were  the 
thoughts  passing  through  my  mind,  when  a  man 
approached  with  a  violin.  Every  eye  brightened, 
and  the  queen  seemed  to  thrill  with  pleasure  in 
every  nerve. 

"  This  is  the  only  way  we  can  get  some  of  them 
to  take  any  exercise.  The  music  rouses  them,  and 
they  will  dance  as  long  as  they  are  permitted  to 
do  so." 

The  fiddler  struck  up  a  lively  tune,  and  the 
queen,  with  marvelous  lightness  of  step  and  ogling 
glances,  ambled  up  to  a  tall,  raw-boned  Methodist 
preacher,  who  had  come  with  me,  and  invited  him 


THE  CALIFORNIA  MAD-HOUSE.          35 

to  dance  with  her.  The  poor  parson  seemed  sadly 
embarrassed,  as  her  manner  was  very  pressing,  but 
he  awkwardly  and  confusedly  declined,  amid  the 
titters  of  all  present.  It  was  a  singular  spectacle, 
that  dance  of  the  mad-women.  The  most  striking 
figure  on  the  floor  was  the  queen.  Her  great  size, 
her  brilliant  apparel,  her  astonishing  agility,  the 
perfect  time  she  kept,  the  bows,  the  smiles  and 
blandishments,  she  bestowed  on  an  imaginary  part- 
ner, were  indescribably  ludicrous.  Now  and  then, 
in  her  evolutions,  she  would  cast  a  momentary  re- 
proachful glance  at  the  ungallant  clergyman  who 
had  refused  to  dance  with  feminine  royalty,  and 
who  stood  looking  on  with  a  sheepish  expression 
of  face.  He  was  a  Kentuckian,  and  lack  of  gal- 
lantry is  not  a  Kentucky  trait. 

During  the  session  of  the  Annual  Conference  at 
Stockton,  in  1859  or  1860,  the  resident  physician 
invited  me  to  preach  to  the  inmates  of  the  Asylum 
on  Sunday  afternoon.  The  novelty  of  the  service, 
which  was  announced  in  the  daily  papers,  attracted 
a  large  number  of  visitors,  among  them  the  greater 
part  of  the  preachers.  The  day  was  one  of  those 
bright,  clear,  beautiful  October  days,  peculiar  to 
California,  that  make  you  think  of  heaven.  I 
stood  on  the  steps,  and  the  hundreds  of  men  and 
women  stood  below  me,  with  their  upturned  faces. 
Among  them  were  old  men  crushed  by  sorrow,  and 


36  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

old  men  ruined  by  vice ;  aged  women  with  faces 
that  seemed  to  plead  for  pity,  women  that  made 
you  shrink  from  their  unwomanly  gaze ;  lion-like 
young  men,  made  for  heroes  but  caught  in  the 
devil's  trap  and  changed  into  beasts;  and  boys 
whose  looks  showed  that  sin  had  already  stamped 
them  with  its  foul  insignia,  and  burned  into  their 
souls  the  shame  which  is  to  be  one  of  the  elements 
of  its  eternal  punishment.  A  less  impressible  man 
than  I  would  have  felt  moved  at  the  sight  of  that 
throng  of  bruised  and  broken  creatures.  A  hymn 
was  read,  and  when  Burnet,  Kelsay,  Neal,  and 
others  of  the  preachers,  struck  up  an  old  tune, 
voice  after  voice  joined  in  the  melody  until  it 
swelled  into  a  mighty  volume  of  sacred  song.  I 
noticed  that  the  faces  of  many  were  wet  with  tears, 
and  there  was  an  indescribable  pathos  in  their 
voices.  The  pitying  God,  amid  the  rapturous  hal- 
leluiahs of  the  heavenly  hosts,  bent  to  listen  to  the 
music  of  these  broken  harps.  This  text  was  an- 
nounced, My  peace  I  give  unto  you;  and  the  ser- 
mon began. 

Among  those  standing  nearest  to  me  was  "  Old 
Kelley,"  a  noted  patient,  whose  monomania  was 
the  notion  that  he  was  a  millionaire,  and  who  spent 
most  of  his  time  in  drawing  checks  on  imaginary 
deposits  for  vast  sums  of  money.  I  held  one  of 
his  checks  for  a  round  million,  but  it  has  never  yet 


THE  CALIFORNIA  MAD-HOUSE.          37 

been  cashed.  The  old  man  pressed  up  close  to 
me,  seeming  to. feel  that  the  success  of  the  service 
somehow  depended  on  him.  I  had  not  more  than 
fairly  begun  my  discourse,  when  he  broke  in : 

"  That 's  Daniel  Webster ! " 

I  don't  mind  a  judicious  "Amen,"  but  this  put 
me  out  a  little.  I  resumed  my  remarks,  and  was 
getting. another  good  start,  when  he  again  broke  in 
enthusiastically: 

"Henry  Clay!" 

The  preachers  standing  "around  me  smiled — I 
think  I  heard  one  or  two  of  them  titter.  I  could 
not  take  my  eyes  from  Kelley,  who  stood  with  open 
mouth  and  beaming  countenance,  waiting  for  me 
to  go  on.  He  held  me  with  an  evil  fascination. 
I  did  go  on  in  a  louder  voice,  and  in  a  sort  of  des- 
peration ;  but  again  my  delighted  hearer  exclaimed  : 

"Calhoun!" 

"Old  Kelley"  spoiled  that  sermon,  though  he 
meant  kindly.  He  died  not  long  afterward,  gloat- 
ing over  his  fancied  millions  to  the  last. 

"If  you  have  steady  nerves,  come  with  me  and 
I  will  show  you  the  worst  case  we  have — a  woman 
half  tigress,  and  half  devil." 

Ascending  a  stair-way,  I  was  led  to  an  angle 
of  the  building  assigned  to  the  patients  whose 
violence  required  them  to  be  kept  in  close  confine- 
ment. 


38  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

"Hark!  don't  you  hear  her?  She  is  in  one  of 
her  paroxysms  now." 

The  sounds  that  iss.ued  from  one  of  the  cells 
were  like  nothing  I  had  ever  heard  before.  They 
were  a  series  of  unearthly,  fiendish  shrieks,  inter- 
mingled with  furious  imprecations,  as  of  a  lost  spirit 
in  an  ecstasy  of  rage  and  fear. 

The  face  that  glared  upon  me  through  the  iron 
grating  was  hideous,  horrible.  It  was  that  of  a 
woman,  or  of  what  had  been  a  woman,  but  was 
now  a  wreck  out  of  which  evil  passion  had  stamped 
all  that  was  womanly  or  human.  I  involuntarily 
shrunk  back  as  I  met  the  glare  of  those  fiery  eyes, 
and  caught  the  sound  of  words  that  made  me  shud- 
der. I  never  suspected  myself  of  being  a  coward, 
but  I  felt  glad  that  the  iron  bars  of  the  cell  against 
which  she  dashed  herself  were  strong.  I  had  read 
of  Furies — one  was  now  before  me.  The  bloated, 
gin-inflamed  face,  the  fiery-red,  wicked  eyes,  the 
swinish  chin,  the  tangled  coarse  hair  falling  around 
her  like  writhing  snakes,  the  tiger-like  clutch  of 
her  dirty  fingers,  the  horrible  words — the  picture 
was  sickening,  disgust  for  the  time  almost  extin- 
guishing pity. 

"She  was  the  keeper  of  a  beer -saloon  in  San 
Francisco,  and  led  a  life  of  drunkenness  and  li- 
centiousness until  she  broke  down,  and  she  was 
brought  here." 


THE  CALIFORNIA  MAD-HOUSE.          39 

"Is  there  any  hope  of  her  restoration ? " 

"I  fear  not  —  nothing  short  of  a  miracle  can 
re-tune  an  instrument  so  fearfully  broken  and 
jangled." 

I  thought  of  her  out  of  whom  were  cast  the  seven 
devils,  and  of  Him  who  came  to  seek  and  to  save 
the  lost,  and  resisting  the  impulse  that  prompted 
me  to  hurry  away  from  the  sight  and  hearing  of 
this  lost  woman,  I  tried  to  talk  with  her,  but  had 
to  retire  at  last  amid  a  volley  of  such  language  as 
I  hope  never  to  hear  from  a  woman's  lips  again. 

" Listen!  Did  you  ever  hear  a  sweeter  voice 
than  that?" 

I  had  heard  the  voice  before,  and  thrilled  under 
its  power.  It  was  a  female  voice  of  wonderful 
richness  and  volume,  with  a  touch  of  something  in 
it  that  moved  you  strangely — a  sort  of  intensity 
that  set  your  pulses  to  beating  faster,  while  it  en- 
tranced you.  The  whole  of  the  spacious  grounds 
were  flooded  with  the  melody,  and  the  passing 
teamsters  on  the  public  highway  would  pause  and 
listen  with  wonder  and  delight.  The  singer  was  a 
fair  young  girl,  with  dark  auburn  hair,  large  brown 
eyes,  that  were  at  times  dreamy  and  sad,  and  then 
again  lit  up  with  excitement,  as  her  moods  changed 
from  sad  to  gay. 

"She  will  sit  silent  for  hours  gazing  listlessly  out 
of  the  window,  and  then  all  at  once  break  forth 


40  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

into  a  burst  of  song  so  sweet  and  thrilling  that  the 
other  patients  gather  near  her  and  listen  in  rapt 
silence  and  delight.  Sometimes  at  a  dead  hour  of 
the  night  her  voice  is  heard,  and  then  it  seems  that 
she  is  under  a  special  afflatus — she  seems  to  be  in- 
spired by  the  very  soul  of  music,  and  her  songs, 
wild  and  sad,  wailing  and  rollicking,  by  turns,  but 
all  exquisitely  sweet,  fill  the  long  night-hours  with 
their  melody." 

The  shock  caused  by  the  sudden  death  of  her 
betrothed  lover  overthrew  her  reason,  and  blighted 
her  life.  By  the  mercy  of  God,  the  love  of  music 
and  the  gift  of  song  survived  the  wreck  of  love  and 
of  reason.  This  girl's  voice,  pealing  forth  upon  the 
still  summer  evening  air,  is  mingled  with  my  last 
recollection  of  Stockton  and  its  refuge  for  the 
doubly  miserable  who  are  doomed  to  death  in  life. 


SAN  QUENTIN. 


"  T  WANT  you  to  go  with  me  over  to  San  Quentin 
L  next  Thursday,  and  preach  a  thanksgiving- 
sermon  to  the  poor  fellows  in  the  State-prison." 

On  the  appointed  morning,  I  met  our  party  at 
the  Vallejo-street  wharf,  and  we  were  soon  steam- 
ing on  our  way.  Passing  under  the  guns  of  Fort 
Alcatraz,  past  Angel  Island — why  so  called  I  know 
not,  as  in  early  days  it  was  inhabited  not  by  an- 
gels but  goats  only — all  of  us  felt  the  exhilaration 
of  the  California  sunshine,  and  the  bracing  No- 
vember air,  as  we  stood  upon  the  guards,  watching 
the  play  of  the  lazy-looking  porpoises,  that  seemed 
to  roll  along,  keeping  up  with  the  swift  motion  of 
the  boat  in  such  a  leisurely  way.  The  porpoise 
is  a  deceiver.  As  he  rolls  up  to  the  surface  of 
the  water,  in  his  lumbering  way,  he  looks  as  if 
he  were  a  huge  lump  of  unwieldy  awkwTarduess, 
floating  at  random  and  almost  helpless ;  but  when 
you  come  to  know  him  better,  you  find  that  he  is 

(41) 


42  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

a  marvel  of  muscular  power  and  swiftness.  I 
have  seen  a  "school"  of  porpoises  in  the  Pacific 
swimming  for  hours  alongside  one  of  our  fleetest 
ocean-steamers,  darting  a  few  yards  ahead  now 
and  then,  as  if  by  mere  volition,  cutting  their  way 
through  the  water  with  the  directness  of  an  arrow. 
The  porpoise  is  playful  at  times,  and  his  favorite 
game  is  a  sort  of  leap-frog.  A  score  or  more  of 
the  creatures,  seemingly  full  of  fun  and  excite- 
ment, will  chase  one  another  at  full  speed,  throw- 
ing themselves  from  the  water  and  turning  somer- 
saults in  the  air,  the  water  boiling  with  the  agitation, 
and  their  huge  bodies  flashing  in  the  light.  You 
might  almost  imagine  that  they  had  found  some- 
thing in  the  sea  that  had  made  them  drunk,  or 
that  they  had  inhaled  some  sort  of  piscatorial  an- 
aesthetic. But  here  we  are  at  our  destination. 
The  bell  rings,  we  round  to,  and  land. 

At  San  Quentin  nature  is  at  her  best,  and  man 
at  his  worst.  Against  the  rocky  shore  the  waters 
of  the  bay  break  in  gentle  plashings  when  the 
winds  are  quiet.  When  the  gales  from  the  south- 
west sweep  through  the  Golden  Gate,  and  set  the 
white  caps  to  dancing  to  their  wild  music,  the 
waves  rise  high,  and  dash  upon  the  dripping  stones 
with  a  hoarse  roar,  as  of  anger.  Beginning  a 
few  hundreds  of  yards  from  the  water's  edge,  the 
hills  slope  up,  and  up,  and  up,  until  they  touch  the 


SAN  QUEXTLN.  43 

base  of  Tamelpais,  on  whose  dark  and  rugged 
summit,  four  thousand  feet  above  the  sea  that 
laves  his  feet  on  the  west,  the  rays  of  the  morning 
sun  fall  with  transfiguring  glory  while  yet  the  val- 
ley below  lies  in  shadow.  On  this  lofty  pinnacle  lin- 
ger the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  as  it  drops  into 
the  bosom  of  the  Pacific.  In  stormy  weather,  the 
mist  and  clouds  roll  in  from  the  ocean,  and  gather 
in  dark  masses  around  his  awful  head,  as  if  the 
sea-gods  had  risen  from  their  homes  in  the  deep, 
and  were  holding  a  council  of  war  amid  the  battle 
of  the  elements ;  at  other  times,  after  calm, 
bright  days,  the  thin,  soft  white  clouds  that  hang 
about  his  crest  deepen  into  crimson  and  gold,  and 
the  mountain-top  looks  as  if  the  angels  of  God  had 
come  down  to  encamp,  and  pitched  here  their  pa- 
vilions of  glory.  This  is  nature  at  San  Quentin, 
and  this  is  Tamelpais  as  I  have  looked  upon  it 
many  a  morning  and  many  an  evening  from  my 
window  above  the  sea  at  North  Beach. 

The  gate  is  opened  for  us,  and  we  enter  the 
prison-walls.  It  is  a  holiday,  and  the  day  is  fair 
and  balmy;  but  the  chill  and  sadness  cannot  be 
shaken  off,  as  we  look  around  us.  The  sunshine 
seems  almost  to  be  a  mockery  in  this  place  where  fel- 
low-men are  caged  and  guarded  like  wild  beasts,  and 
skulk  about  with  shaved  heads,  clad  in  the  striped 
uniform  of  infamy.  Merciful  God!  is  this  what 


44  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

thy  creature  man  was  made  for?     How  ]ong,  how 
long? 

Seated  upon  the  platform  with  the  prison  offi- 
cials and  visitors,  I  watched  my  strange  auditors 
as  they  came  in.  There  were  one  thousand  of 
them.  Their  faces  were  a  curious  study.  Most 
of  them  were  bad  faces.  Beast  and  devil  were 
printed  on  them.  Thick  necks,  heavy  back-heads, 
and  low,  square  foreheads,  were  the  prevalent 
types.  The  least  repulsive  were  those  who  looked 
as  if  they  were  all  animal,  creatures  of  instinct 
and  appetite,  good-natured  and  stupid ;  the  most 
repulsive  were  those  whose  eyes  had  a  gleam  of 
mingled  sensuality  and  ferocity.  But  some  of 
these  faces  that  met  my  gaze  were  startling — they 
seemed  so  out  of  place.  One  old  man  with  gray 
hair,  pale,  sad  face,  and  clear  blue  eyes,  might 
have  passed,  in  other  garb  and  in  other  company, 
for  an  honored  member  of  the  Society  of  Friends. 
He  had  killed  a  man  in  a  mountain  county.  If 
he  was  indeed  a  murderer  at  heart,  nature  had 
given  him  the  wrong  imprint.  My  attention  was 
struck  by  a  smooth-faced,  handsome  young  fellow, 
scarcely  of  age,  who  looked  as  little  like  a  convict 
as  anybody  on  that  platform.  He  was  in  for 
burglary,  and  had  a  very  bad  record.  Some  came 
in  half  laughing,  as  if  they  thought  the  whole 
affair  more  a  joke  than  any  thing  else.  The  Mex- 


SAX  QUEXTIX.  45 

icans,  of  whom  there  was  quite  a  number,  were 
sullen  and  scowling.  There  is  gloom  in  the  Span- 
ish blood.  The  irrepressible  good  nature  of  sev- 
eral ruddy-faced  Irishmen  broke  out  in  sly  merri- 
ment. As  the  service  began,  the  discipline  of  the 
prison  showed  itself  in  the  quiet  that  instantly 
prevailed ;  but  only  a  few,  who  joined  in  the 
singing,  seemed  to  feel  the  slightest  interest  in  it. 
Their  eyes  were  wandering,  and  their  faces  were 
vacant.  They  had  the  look  of  men  who  had  come 
to  be  talked  at  and  patronized,  and  who  were  used 
to  it.  The  prayer  that  wras  offered  was  not  calcu- 
lated to  banish  such  a  feeling — it  was  dry  and 
cold.  I  stood  up  to  begin  the  sermon.  Never  be- 
fore had  I  realized  so  fully  that  God's  message  was 
to  lost  men,  and  for  lost  men.  A  mighty  tide  of 
pity  rushed  in  upon  my  soul  as  I  looked  down  into 
the  faces  of  my  hearers.  My  eyes  filled,  and  my 
heart  melted  within  me.  I  could  not  speak  until 
after  a  pause,  and  only  then  by  great  effort. 
There  was  a  deep  silence,  and  every  face  was  lifted 
to  mine  as  I  announced  the  text.  God  had  touched 
my  heart  and  theirs  at  the  start.  I  read  the  words 
slowly :  God  hath  not  appointed  us  to  wrath,  but  to  ob~ 
IK  in  salvation  by  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  Then  I  said : 
"  My  fellowr-men,  I  come  to  you  to-day  with  a 
message  from  my  Father,  and  your  Father  in 
heaven.  It  is  a  message  of  hope.  God  help  me 


46  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

to  deliver  it  as  I  ought!  God  help  you  to  hear  it 
as  you  ought!  I  will  not  insult  you  by  saying 
that  because  you  have  an  extra  dinner,  a  few 
hours  respite  from  your  toil,  and  a  little  fresh  air 
and  sunshine,  you  ought  to  have  a  joyful  thanks- 
giving to-day.  If  I  should  talk  thus,  you  would 
be  ready  to  ask  me  how  I  would  like  to  change 
places  with  you.  You  would  despise  me,  and  I 
would  despise  myself,  for  indulging  in  such  cant. 
Your  lot  is  a  hard  one.  The  battle  of  life  has 
gone  against  you — whether  by  your  own  fault  or 
by  hard  fortune,  it  matters  not,  so  far  as  the  fact  is 
concerned;  this  thanksgiving-day  finds  you  locked 
in  here,  with  broken  lives,  and  wearing  the  badge  of 
crime.  God  alone  knows  the  secrets  of  each  throb* 
bing  heart  before  me,  and  how  it  is  that  you  have 
come  to  this.  Fellow-men,  children  of  my  Father 
in  heaven,  putting  myself  for  the  moment  in  your 
place,  the  bitterness  of  your  lot  is  real  and  terrible 
to  ine.  For  some  of  you  there  is  no  happier  pros- 
pect for  this  life  than  to  toil  within  these  walls  by 
day,  and  sleep  in  yonder  cells  by  night,  through 
the  weary,  slow-dragging  years,  and  then  to  die, 
with  only  the  hands  of  hired  attendants  to  wipe 
the  death-sweat  from  your  brows;  and  then  to  be 
put  in  a  convict's  coffin,  and  taken  up  on  the  hill 
yonder,  and  laid  in  a  lonely  grave.  My  God ! 
this  is  terrible !  " 


SAN  QUENTIN.  47 

An  unexpected  dramatic  effect  followed  these 
words.  The  heads  of  many  of  the  convicts  fell 
forward  on  their  breasts,  as  if  struck  with  sudden 
paralysis.  They  were  the  men  who  were  in  for 
life,  and  the  horror  of  it  overcame  them.  The 
silence  was  broken  by  sobbings  all  over  the  room. 
The  officers  and  visitors  on  the  platform  were 
weeping.  The  angel  of  pity  hovered  over  the 
place,  and  the  glow  of  human  sympathy  had  melt- 
ed those  stony  hearts.  A  thousand  strong  men 
were  thrilled  with  the  touch  of  sympathy,  and 
once  more  the  sacred  fountain  of  tears  wras  un- 
sealed. These  convicts  were  men,  after  all,  and 
deep  down  under  the  rubbish  of  their  natures 
there  was  still  burning  the  spark  of  a  humanity 
not  yet  extinct.  It  was  wonderful  to  see  the  soft- 
ened expression  of  their  faces.  Yes,  they  were 
men,  after  all,  responding  to  the  voice  of  sympathy, 
which  had  been  but  too  strange  to  many  of  them 
all  their  evil  lives.  Many  of  them  had  inherited 
hard  conditions;  they  were  literally  conceived  in 
sin  and  born  in  iniquity ;  they  grew  up  in  the 
midst  of  vice.  For  them  pure  and  holy  lives 
were  a  moral  impossibility.  Evil  with  them  was 
hereditary,  organic,  and  the  result  of  association ; 
it  poisoned  their  blood  at  the  start,  and  stamped  it- 
self on  their  features  from  their  cradles.  Human 
law,  in  dealing  with  these  victims  of  evil  circum- 


48  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

stance,  can  make  little  discrimination.  Society 
must  protect  itself,  treating  a  criminal  as  a  crim- 
inal. But  what  will  God  do  with  them  hereafter? 
Be  sure  he  will  do  right.  Where  little  is  given, 
little  will  be  required.  It  shall  be  better  for  Tyre 
and  Sidon  at  the  day  of  judgment  than  for  Chora- 
zin  and  Bethsaida.  There  is  no  ruin  without  rem- 
edy, except  that  which  a  man  makes  for  himself 
by  abusing  mercy,  and  throwing  away  proffered 
opportunity.  Thoughts  like  these  rushed  through 
the  preacher's  mind,  as  he  stood  there  looking  in 
the  tear-bedewed  faces  of  these  men  of  crime.  A 
fresh  tide  of  pity  rose  in  his  heart,  that  he  felt 
came  from  the  heart  of  the  all-pitying  One. 

"  I  do  not  try  to  disguise  from  you,  or  from  myself 
the  fact  that  for  this  life  your  outlook  is  not  bright. 
But  I  come  to  you  this  day  with  a  message  of  hope 
from  God  our  Father.  He  hath  not  appointed  you 
to  wrath.  He  loves  all  his  children.  He  sent  his 
Son  to  die  for  them.  Jesus  trod  the  paths  of  pain, 
and  drained  the  cup  of  sorrow.  He  died  as  a 
malefactor,  for  malefactors.  He  died  for  me.  He 
died  for  each  one  of  you.  If  I  knew  the  most 
broken,  the  most  desolate-hearted,  despairing  man 
before  me,  who  feels  that  he  is  scorned  of  men  and 
forsaken  of  God,  I  would  go  to  where  he  sits  and 
put  my  hand*  on  his  head,  and  tell  him  that  God 
hath  not  appointed  him  to  wrath,  but  to  obtain 


SAX  QUKXTIN.  49 

salvation  by  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who  died  for 
us.  I  would  tell  him  that  his  Father  in  heaven 
loves  him  still,  loves  him  more  than  the  mother 
that  bore  him.  I  'would  tell  him  that  all  the 
wrongs  and  follies  of  his  past  life  may  from  this 
hour  be  turned  into  so  much  capital  of  a  warning 
experience,  and  that  a  million  of  years  from  to-day 
he  may  be  a  child  of  the  Heavenly  Father,  and  an 
heir  of  glory,  having  the  freedom  of  the  heavens 
tind  the  blessedness  of  everlasting  life.  O  broth- 
ers, God  does  love  you!  Nothing  can  ruin  you 
but  your  own  despair.  .No  man  has  any  right  to 
despair  who  has  eternity  before  him.  Eternity? 
Long,  long  eternity!  Blessed,  blessed  eternity! 
That  is  yours* — all  of  it.  It  may  be  a  happy  eter- 
nity for  each  one  of  you.  From  this  moment  you 
may  begin  a  better  life.  There  is  hope  for  you, 
and  mercy,  and  love,  and  heaven.  This  is  the 
message  I  bring  you  warm  from  a  brother's  heart, 
and  warm  from  the  heart  of  Jesus,  whose  life-blood 
was  poured  out  for  you  and  me.  His  loving  hand 
opened  the  gate  of  mercy  and  hope  to  every  man. 
The  proof  is  that  he  died  for  us.  O  Son  of  God, 
take  us  to  thy  pitying  arms,  and  lift  us  up  into  the 
light  that  never,  never  grows  dim — into  the  love 
that  fills  heaven  and  eternity!" 

As  the  speaker  sunk  into  his  seat,  there  was  a 
e'.lenoe  that  was  almost  painful  for  a  few  moments. 
4 


50  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

Then  the  pent-up  emotion  of  the  men  broke  forth 
in  sobs  that  shook  their  strong  frames.  Dr.  Lucky, 
the  prisoner's  friend,  made  a  brief,  tearful  prayer, 
and  then  the  benediction  was  said,  and  the  service 
was  at  an  end.  The  men  sat  still  in  their  seats. 
As  we  filed  out  of  the  chapel,  many  hands  were 
extended  to  grasp  mine,  holding  it  with  a  clinging 
pressure.  I  passed  out  bearing  with  me  the  im- 
pression of  an  hour  I  can  never  .forget ;  and  the 
images  of  those  thousand  faces  are  still  painted  in 
memory. 


'  COKBALED." 


you  were  corraled  last  night?" 
This  was  the  remark  of  a  friend  whom  I 
met  in  the  streets  of  Stockton  the  morning  after 
my  adventure.  I  knew  what  the  expression  meant 
as  applied  to  cattle,  but  I,  had  never  heard  it  be- 
fore in  reference  to  a  human  being.  Yes,  I  had 
been  corraled;  and  this  is  how  it  happened: 

It  was  in  the  old  days,  before  there  were  any 
railroads  in  California.  With  a  wiry,  clean-limbed 
pinto  horse,  I  undertook  to  drive  from  Sacramento 
City  to  Stockton  one  day.  It  was  in  the  winter 
season,  and  the  clouds  were  sweeping  up  from  the 
south-west,  the  snow-crested  Sierras  hidden  from 
sight  by  dense  masses  of  vapor  boiling  at  their 
bases  and  massed  against  their  sides.  The  roads 
were  heavy  from  the  effects  of  previous  rains,  and 
the  plucky  little  pinto  sweated  as  he  pulled  through 
the  long  stretches  of  black  adobe  mud.  A  cold 
'wind  struck  me  in  the  face,  and  the  ride  was  a 

(51) 


52  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

dreary  one  from  the  start.  But  I  pushed  on  con- 
fidently, having  faith  in  the  spotted  mustang,  de- 
spite the  evident  fact  that  he  had  lost  no  little  of 
the  spirit  with  which  he  dashed  out  of  town  at 
starting.  When  a,  genuine  mustang  flags,  it  is  a 
serious  business.  The  hardiness  and  endurance  of 
this  breed  of  horses  almost  exceed  belief. 

Toward  night  a  cold  rain  began  to  fall,  driving 
in  my  face  with  the  head-wind.  Still  many  a  long 
mile  lay  between  me  and  Stockton.  Dark  came 
on,  and  it  was  dark  indeed.  The  outline  of  the 
horse  I  was  driving  could  not  be  seen,  and  the  flat 
country  through  which  I  was  driving  was  a  great 
black  sea  of  night.  I  trusted  to  the  instinct  of  the 
horse,  and  moved  on.  The  bells  of  a  wagon-team 
meeting  me  fell  upon  my  ear.  I  called  out, 

"Halloo  there!" 

"What's  the  matter?''  answered  a  heavy  voice 
through  the  darkness. 

"Am  I  in  the  road  to  Stockton,  and  can  I  get 
there  to-night?" 

"  You  are  in  the  road,  but  you  will  never  find 
your  way  such  a  night  as  this.  It  is  ten  good 
miles  from  here  ;  you  have  several  bridges  to  cross 
— you  had  better  stop  at  the  first  house  you  come  to, 
about  half  a  mile  ahead.  I  am  going  to  strike 
camp  myself." 

I  thanked  my  adviser,  and  went  on,  hearing  the 


"  CORRALED"  53 

sound  of  the  tinkling  bells,  but  unable  to  see  any 
thing.  In  a  little  while  I  saw  a  light  ahead,  and 
was  glad  to  see  it.  Driving  up  in  front  and  halt- 
ing, I  repeated  the  traveler's  " halloo"  several 
times,  and  at  last  got  a  response  in  a  hoarse,  gruff 
voice. 

"I  am  belated  on  my  way  to  Stockton,  and  am 
cold,  and  tired,  and  hungry.  Can  I  get  shelter 
with  you  for  the  night?" 

"  You  may  try  it,  if  you  want  to,"  answered  the 
unmusical  voice  abruptly. 

In  a  few  moments  a  man  appeared  to  take  the 
horse,  and  taking  my  satchel  in  hand,  I  went  into 
the  house.  The  first  thing  that  struck  my  atten- 
tion on  entering  the  room  wras  a  big  log-fire,  which 
I  was  glad  to  see,  for  I  was  wet  and  very  cold. 
Taking  a  chair  in  the  corner,  I  looked  around. 
The  scene  that  presented  itself  was  not  reassuring. 
The  main  feature  of  the  room  was  a  bar,  with  an 
ample  supply  of  barrels,  demijohns,  bottles,  tum- 
blers, and  all  the  et  cceteras.  Behind  the  counter 
stood  the  proprietor,  a  burly  fellow  with  a  buffalo- 
neck,  fair  skin  and  blue  eyes,  with  a  frightful  scar 
across  his  left  under-jaw  and  neck;  his  shirt-collar 
was  open,  exposing  a  huge  chest,  and  his  sleeves 
were  rolled  up  above  the  elbows.  I  noticed  also 
that  one  of  his  hands  was  minus  all  the  fingers 
but  the  half  of  uiie — the  result  probably  of  some 


54  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

desperate  rencounter.  I  did  not  like  the  appear- 
ance of  my  landlord,  and  he  eyed  me  in  a  way 
that  led  me  to  fear  that  he  liked  my  looks  as  little  as 
I  did  his ;  but  the  claims  of  other  guests  soon  divert- 
ed his  attention  from  me,  and  I  was  left  to  get 
warm  and  make  further  observations.  At  a  table 
in  the  middle  of  the  room  several  hard -looking 
fellows  were  betting  at  cards,  amid  terrible  pro- 
fanity and  frequent  drinks  of  whisky.  They  cast 
inquiring  and  not  very  friendly  glances  at  me  from 
time  to  time,  once  or  twice  exchanging  whispers 
and  giggling.  As  their  play  went  on,  and  tumbler 
after  tumbler  of  whisky  was  drunk  by  them,  they 
became  more  boisterous.  Threats  were  made  of 
using  pistols  and  knives,  with  which  they  all 
seemed  to  be  heavily  armed ;  and  one  sottish-look- 
ing brute  actually  drew  forth  a  pistol,  but  was 
disarmed  in  no  gentle  way  by  the  big-limbed  land- 
lord. The  profanity  and  other  foul  language  were 
horrible.  Many  of  my  readers  have  no  conception 
of  the  brutishness  of  men  when  whisky  and  Satan 
have  full  possession  of  them.  In  the  midst  of  a 
volley  of  oaths  and  terrible  imprecations  by  one 
of  the  most  violent  of  the  set,  there  was  a  faint 
gleam  of  lingering  decency  exhibited  by  one  of 
his  companions: 

"Blast  it,  Dick,  don't  cuss  so  loud — that  fellow 
in  the  corner  there  is  a  preacher!" 


"  CORRALED"  55 

There  was  some  potency  in  "the  cloth"  even 
there.  How  lie  knew  my  calling  I  do  not  know. 
The  remark  directed  particular  attention  to  me, 
and  I  became  unpleasantly  conspicuous.  Scowling 
glances  were  bent  upon  me  by  two  or  three  of  the 
ruffians,  and  one  fellow  made  a  profane  remark 
not  at  all  complimentary  to  my  vocation — whereat 
there  was  some  coarse  laughter.  In  the  meantime 
I  was  conscious  of  being  very  hungry.  My  hun- 
ger, like  that  of  a  boy,  is  a  very  positive  thing — at 
least  it  was  very  much  so  in  those  days.  Glancing 
toward  the  maimed  and  scarred  giant  who  stood 
behind  the  bar,  I  found  he  was  gazing  at  me  witli 
a  fixed  expression. 

"Can  I  get  something  to  eat?  I  am  very  hun- 
gry, sir,"  I  said  in  my  blandest  tones. 

"Yes,  we've  plenty  of  cold  goose,  and  may  be 
Pete  can  pick  up  something  else  for  you  if  he  is 
sober  and  in  a  good  humor.  Come  this  way/' 

I  followed  him  through  a  narrow  passage-way, 
which  led  to  a  long,  low- ceiled  room,  along  nearly 
the  whole  length  of  which  was  stretched  a  table, 
around  which  were  placed  rough  stools  for  the 
rough  men  about  the  place. 

Pete,  the  cook,  came  in,  and  the  head  of  the 
house  turned  me  over  to  him,  and  returned  to  his 
duties  behind  the  bar.  From  the  noise  of  the  up- 
roar going  on,  his  presence  was  doubtless  needed. 


56  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

Pete  set  before  me  a  large  roasted  wild-goose,  not 
badly  cooked,  with  bread,  milk,  and  the  inevitable 
cucumber  pickles.  The  knives  and  forks  were  not 
very  bright — in  fact,  they  had  been  subjected  to  in- 
fluences promotive  of  oxidation;  and  the  dishes 
were  not  free  from  bigns  of  former  use.  Nothing 
could  be  said  against  the  table-cloth — there  was 
no  table-cloth  there.  But  the  goose  was  fat, 
brown,  and  tender ;  and  a  hungry  man  defers  his 
criticisms  until  he  is  done  eating,  That  is  what  I 
did.  Pete  evidently  regarded  me  with  curiosity. 
He  was  about  fifty  years  of  age,  and  had  the  look 
of  a  man  who  had  come  down  in  the  world.  His 
face  bore  the  marks  of  the  effects  of  strong  drink, 
but  it  was  not  a  bad  face ;  it  was  more  weak  than 
wicked. 

"Are  you  a  preacher?"  he  asked. 

".I  thought  so,"  he  added,  after  getting  my  an- 
swer to  his  question.  "  Of  what  persuasion  are 
you?"  he  further  inquired. 

When  I  told  him  I  was  a  Methodist,  he  said 
quickly  and  with  some  warmth : 

"I  was  sure  of  it.  This  is  a  rough  place  for 
a  man  of  your  calling.  Would  you  like  some 
eggs?  we've  plenty  on  hand.  And  may  be  you 
would  like  a  cup  of  coffee,"  he  added,  with  in- 
creasing hospitality. 

I  took  the  eggs,  but  declined  the  coffee,  not  lik- 


"  ComtALED"  57 

ing  the  looks  of  the  cups  and  saucers,  and  not  car- 
ing to  wait. 

"  I  used  to  be  a  Methodist  myself,"  said  Pete, 
with  a  sort  of  choking  in  his  throat,  "  but  bad  luck 
and  bad  company  have  brought  me  down  to  this. 
I  have  a  family  in  Iowa,  a  wife  and  four  children. 
I  guess  they  think  I'm  dead,  and  sometimes  I  wish 
I  was." 

Pete  stood  by  my  chair,  actually  crying.  The 
sight  of  a  Methodist  preacher  brought  up  old 
times.  He  told  me  his  story.  He  had  come  to 
California  hoping  to  make-  a  fortune  in  a  hurry, 
but  had  only  ill  luck  from  the  start.  His  pros- 
pectings  were  always  failures,  his  partners  cheated 
liim,  his  health  broke  down,  his  courage  gave  way, 
and — he  faltered  a  little,  and  then  spoke  it  out — 
he  took  to  whisky,  and  then  the  worst  came. 

"  I  have  come  down  to  this — cooking  for  a  lot 
of  roughs  at  five  dollars  a  week,  and  all  the  whis- 
ky I  want.  It  would  have  been  better  for  me  if  I 
had  died  when  I  was  in  the  hospital  at  San  Andreas." 

Poor  Pete!  he  had  indeed  touched  bottom.  But 
he  had  a  heart  and  a  conscience  still,  and  my  own 
heart  warmed  toward  my  poor  backslidden  brother. 

"  You  are  not  a  lost  man  yet.  You  are  worth  a 
thousand  dead  men.  You  can  get  out  of  this,  and 
you  must.  You  must  act  the  part  of  a  brave  man, 
and  not  be  any  longer  a  coward.  Bad  luck  and 


58  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

lack  of  success  are  a  disgrace  to  no  man.  There  is 
where  you  went  wrong.  It  was  cowardly  to  give 
up  and  not  write  to  your  family,  and  then  take  to 
whisky/' 

"I  know  all  that,  Elder.  There  is  no  better  lit- 
tle woman  on  earth  than  my  wife" — Pete  choked 
up  again. 

"  You  write  to  her  this  very  night,  and  go  back 
to  her  and  your  children  just  as  soon  as  you  can 
get  the  money  to  pay  your  way.  Act  the  man,  and 
all  will  come  right  yet.  I  have  writing-materials 
here  in  my  satchel — pen,  ink,  paper,  envelopes, 
stamps,  every  thing;  I  am  an  editor,  and  go  fixed 
up  for  writing." 

The  letter  was  written,  I  acting  as  Pete's  aman- 
uensis, he  pleading  that  he  was  a  poor  scribe  at  best, 
and  that  his  nerves  were  too  unsteady  for  such 
work.  Taking  my  advice,  he  made  a  clean  breast 
of  the  whole  matter,  throwing  himself  on  the  for- 
giveness of  the  wife  whom  he  had  so  shamefully 
neglected,  and  promising  by  the  help  of  God  to 
make  all  the  amends  possible  in  time  to  come. 
The  letter  was  duly  directed,  sealed,  and  stamped, 
and  Pete  looked  as  if  a  great  weight  had  been 
lifted  from  his  soul.  He  had  made  me  a  fire  in  the 
little  stove,  saying  it  was  better  than  the  bar- 
room; in  which  opinion  I  was  fully  agreed. 

"  There  is  no  place  for  you  to  sleep  to-night  with- 


"  COBRALED."  59 

out  corral  ing  you  with  the  fellows;  there  is  but  one 
bed-room,  and  there  are  fourteen  bunks  in  it." 

I  shuddered  at  the  prospect — fourteen  bunks  in 
one  small  room,  and  those  whisky-sodden,  loud- 
cursing  card-players  to  be  my  room-mates  for  the 
night ! 

"I  prefer  sitting  here  by  the  stove  all  night,"  I 
said;  "I  can  employ  most  of  the  time  writing,  if  I 
can  have  a  light." 

Pete  thought  a  moment,  looked  grave,  and  then 
said : 

"That  won't  do,  Elder;  those  fellows  would 
take  offense,  and  make  trouble.  Several  of  them 
are  out  now  goose-hunting;  they  will  be  coming  in 
at  all  hours  from  now  till  day-break,  and  it  won't 
do  for  them  to  find  you  sitting  up  here  alone.  The 
best  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  go  in  and  take  one  of 
those  bunks ;  you  need  n't  take  off  any  thing  but 
your  coat  and  boots,  and" — here  he  lowered  his 
voice,  looking  about  him  as  he  spoke — "  if  you  have 
any  money  about,  keep  it  next  to  your  body." 

The  last  words  were  spoken  with  peculiar  em- 
phasis. 

Taking  the  advice  given  me,  I  took  up  my  bag- 
gage and  followed  Pete  to  the  room  where  I  was 
to  spend  the  night.  Ugh!  it  was  dreadful.  The 
single  window  in  the  room  was  nailed  down,  and 
the  air  was  close  and  foul.  The  bunks  were  damp 


60  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

and  dirty  beyond  belief,  grimed  with  foulness,  and 
reeking  with  ill  odors.  This  was  being  corraled. 
I  turned  to  Pete,  saying: 

"  I  can't  stand  this — I  will  go  back  to  the 
kitchen." 

"You  had  better  follow  my  advice,  Elder,"  said 
he  very  gravely.  "  I  know  things  about  here  bet- 
ter than  you  do.  It's  rough,  but  you  had  better 
stand  it." 

And  I  did;  being  corraled,  I  had  to  stand  it. 
That  fearful  night!  The  drunken  fellows  stag- 
gered in  one  by  one,  cursing  and  hiccoughing,  un- 
til every  bunk  was  occupied.  They  muttered 
oaths  in  their  sleep,  and  their  stertorous  breath- 
ings made  a  concert  fit  for  Tartarus.  The  sickening 
odors  of  whisky,  onions,  and  tobacco  filled  the 
room.  I  lay  there  and  longed  for  daylight,  which 
seemed  as  if  it  never  would  come.  I  thought  of  the 
descriptions  I  had  heard  and  read  of  hell,  and 
just  then  the  most  vivid  conception  of  its  horror 
was  to  be  shut  up  forever  with  the  aggregated  im- 
purity of  the  universe.  By  contrast  I  tried  to 
think  of  that  city  of  God  into  which,  it  is  said, 
"there  shall  in  no  wise  enter  into  it  any  thing 
that  defileth,  neither  whatsoever  worketh  abomi- 
nation, or  maketh  a  lie;  but  they  which  are  written 
in  the  Lamb's  book  of  life."  But  thoughts  of 
heaven  did  not  suit- the  situation;  it  was  more  sug- 


"CORRALED."  61 

gestive  of  the  other  place.  The  horror  of  being 
shut  up  eternally  in  hell  as  the  companion  of  lost 
spirits  was  intensified  by  the  experience  and  re- 
flections of  that  night  when  I  Avas  corraled. 

Day  came  at  last.  I  rose  with  the  first  streaks 
of  the  dawn,  and  not  having  much  toilet  to  make, 
I  was  soon  out-of-doors.  Never  did  I  breathe  the 
pure,  fresh  air  with  such  profound  pleasure  and 
gratitude.  I  drew  deep  inspirations,  and,  opening 
my  coat  and  vest,  let  the  breeze  that  swept  up  the 
valley  blow  upon  me  unrestricted.  How  bright, 
was  the  face  of  nature,  and  how  sweet  her  breath 
after  the  sights,  sounds,  and  smells  of  the  night ! 

I  did  not  wait  for  breakfast,  but  had  my  pinto 
and  buggy  brought  out,  and,  bidding  Pete  good-by, 
hurried  on  to  Stockton. 

"So  you  were  corraled  last  night?"  was  the  re- 
mark of  a  friend,  quoted  at  the  beginning  of  this 
true  sketch.  "What  was  the  name  .of  the  propri- 
etor of  the  house?" 

I  gave  him  the  name. 

"DaveW—  — !"  he  exclaimed  with  fresh  aston- 
ishment. "That  is  the  roughest  place  in  the  San 
Joaquin  Valley.  Several  men  have  been  killed  and 
robbed  there  during  the  last  two  or  three  years." 

I  hope  Pete  got  back  safe  to  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren in  Iowa;  and  I  hope  I  may  never  be  corraled 
again. 


THE  KEBLOOMING. 


IT  is  now  more  than  twenty  years  since  the 
morning  a  slender  youth  of  handsome  face  and 
modest  mien  carne  into  my  office  on  the  corner  of 
Montgomery  and  Clay  streets,  San  Francisco.  He 
was  the  son  of  a  preacher  well  known  in  Missouri 
and  California,  a  man  of  rare  good  sense,  caustic 
wit,  and  many  eccentricities.  The  young  man  be- 
came an  attache  of  my  newspaper-office  and  an  in- 
mate of  my  home.  He  was  as  fair  as  a  girl,  and 
refined  in  his  taste  and  manners.  A  genial  taci- 
turnity, if  the  expression  may  be  allowed,  marked 
his  bearing  in  the  social  circle.  Everybody  had  a 
kind  feeling  and  a  good  word  for  the  quiet,  bright- 
faced  youth.  In  the  discharge  of  his  duties  in  the 
office  he  was  punctual  and  trustworthy,  showing 
n©t  only  industry  but  unusual  aptitude  for  business. 
It  was  with  special  pleasure  that  I  learned  that  he 
was  turning  his  thoughts  to  the  subject  of  religion. 
During  the  services  in  the  little  Pine-street  church 
(62) 


THE  EEBLOOMING.  63 

he  would  sit  with  thoughtful  face,  and  not  seldom 
with  moistened  eyes.  He  read  the  Bible  and 
prayed  in  secret.  I  was  not  surprised  when  he 
came  to  me  one  day  and  opened  his  heart.  The 
great  crisis  in  his  life  had  come.  God  was  speak- 
ing to  his  soul,  and  he  was  listening  to  his  voice. 
The  uplifted  cross  drew  him,  and  he  yielded  to  the 
gentle  attraction.  We  prayed  together,  and  hence- 
forth there  was  a  new  and  sacred  bond  that  bound 
us  to  each  other.  I  felt  that  I  was  a  witness  to 
the  most  solemn  transaction  that  can  take  place 
on  earth  —  the  wedding  of -a  soul  to  a  heavenly 
faith.  Soon  thereafter  he  went  to  Virginia,  to  at- 
tend college.  There  he  united  with  the  Church. 
His  letters  to  me  were  full  of  gratitude  and  joy. 
It  was  the  blossoming  of  his  spiritual  life,  and  the 
air  was  full  of  its  fragrance,  and  the  earth  was 
Hooded  with  glory.  A  pedestrian-tour  among  the 
Virginia  hills  brought  him  into  communion  with 
Nature  at  a  time  when  it  was  rapture  to  drink  in 
its  beauty  and  its  grandeur.  The  light  kindled 
within  his  soul  by  the  touch  of  the  Holy  Spirit 
transfigured  the  scenery  upon  which  he  gazed,  and 
the  glory  of  God  shone  round  about  the  young 
student  in  the  flush  and  blessedness  of  his  first 
love.  O  blessed  days!  O  days  of  brightness,  and 
sweetness,  and  rapture!  The  soul  is  then  in  its 
blossoming -time,  and  all  high  enthusiasms,  all 


64  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

bright  dreams,  all  thrilling  joys,  are  realities  which 
inwork  themselves  into  the  consciousness,  to  be  for- 
gotten never;  to  remain  with  us  as  prophecies  of 
the  eternal  spring-time  that  awaits  the  true-hearted 
bu  the  hills  of  God  beyond  the  grave,  or  as  accus- 
ing voices  charging  us  with  the  murder  of  our 
dead  ideals!  Amid  the  dust  and  din  of  the  battle 
in  after-years  we  turn  to  this  radiant  spot  in  our 
journey  with  smiles  or  tears,  according  as  we  have 
been  true  or  false  to  the  impulses,  aspirations,  and 
purposes  inspired  within  us  by  that  first,  and 
brightest,  and  nearest  manifestation  of  God.  Such 
a  season  is  as  natural  to  every  life  as  the  April 
buds  and  June  roses  are  to  fprest  and  garden.  The 
spring-time  of  some  lives  is  deferred  by  impropi- 
tious  circumstance  to  the  time  when  it  should  be 
glowing  with  autumnal  glory,  and  rich  in  the  fruit- 
age of  the  closing  year.  The  life  that  does  not 
blossom  into  religion  in  youth  may  have  light  at 
noon,  and  peace  at  sunset,  but  misses  the  morning 
glory  on  the  hills,  and  the  dew  that  sparkles  on 
grass  and  flower.  The  call  of  God  to  the  young 
to  seek  him  early  is  the  expression  of  a  true  psy- 
chology no  less  than  of  a  love  infinite  in  its  depth 
and  tenderness. 

His  college-course  finished,  my  young  friend  re- 
turned to  California,  and  in  one  of  its  beautiful 
valley-towns  he  entered  a  law-office,  with  a  view 


THE  REBLOOMING.  65 

to  prepare  himself  for  the  legal  profession.  Here 
he  was  thrown  into  daily  association  with  a  little 
knot  of  skeptical  lawyers.  As  is  often  the  case, 
their  moral  obliquities  ran  parallel  with  their  er- 
rors in  opinion.  They  swore,  gambled  genteelly, 
and  drank.  It  is  not  strange  that  in  this  icy  at- 
mosphere the  growth  of  my  young  friend  in  the 
Christian  life  was  stunted.  Such  influences  are 
like  the  dreaded  north  wind  that  at  times  sweeps 
over  the  valleys  of  California  in  the  spring  and 
early  summer,  blighting  and  withering  the  vegeta- 
tion it  does  not  kill.  The  brightness  of  his  hope 
was  dimmed,  and  his  soul  knew  the  torture  of 
doubt  —  a  torture  that  is  always  keenest  to  him 
who  allows  himself  to  sink  in  the  region  of  fogs 
after  he  has  once  stood  upon  the  sunlit  summit  of 
faith.  Just  at  this  crisis,  a  thing  little  in  itself 
deepened  the  shadow  that  was  falling  upon  his 
life.  A  personal  misunderstanding  with  the  pastor 
kept  him  from  attending  church.  Thus  he  lost, 
the  most  effectual  defense  against  the  assaults  that 
were  being  made  upon  his  faith  and  hope,  in  being 
separated  from  the  fellowship  and  cut  off  from  the 
activities  of  the  Church  of  God.  Have  you  not 
noted  these  malign  coincidences  in  life?  There 
are  times  when  it  seems  that  the  tide  of  events 
sets  against  us — when,  like  the  princely  sufferer  of 
the  land  of  Uz,  every  messenger  that  crosses  the 


66  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

threshold  brings  fresh  tidings  of  ill,  and  our  whole 
destiny  seems  to  be  rushing  to  a  predoomed  perdi- 
tion. The  worldly  call  it  bad  luck;  the  supersti- 
tious call  it  fate;  the  believer  in  God  calls  it  by 
another  name.  Always  of  a  delicate  constitution, 
my  friend  now  exhibited  symptoms  of  serious  pul- 
monary disease.  It  was  at  that  time  the  fashion 
in  California  to  prescribe  whisky  as  a  specific  for 
that  class  of  ailments.  It  is  possible  that  there  is 
virtue  in  the  prescription,  but  I  am  sure  of  one 
thing,  namely,  that  if  consumption  diminished, 
drunkenness  increased ;  if  fewer  died  of  phthisis, 
more  died  of  delirium  tremens.  The  physicians  of 
California  have  sent  a  host  of  victims  raving  and 
gibbering  in  drunken  frenzy  or  idiocy  down  to 
death  and  hell !  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  rny 
friend  inherited  a  constitutional  weakness  at  this 
point.  As  flame  to  tinder,  was  the  medicinal 
whisky  to  him.  It  grew  upon  him  rapidly,  and 
soon  this  cloud  overshadowed  all  his  life.  He 
struggled  hard  to  break  the  serpent-folds  that  were 
tightening  around  him  ;  but  the  fire  that  had  been 
kindled  seemed  to  be  quenchless.  An  uncontrolled 
evil  passion  is  hell-fire.  He  writhed  in  its  burn- 
ings in  an  agony  that  could  be  understood  only  by 
such  as  knew  how  almost  morbidly  sensitive  was 
his  nature,  and  how  vital  was  his  conscience.  I 
became  a  pastor  in  the  town  where  he  lived,  and 


THE  REBLOOMING.  67 

renewed  my  association  with  him  as  far  as  I  could. 
But  there  was  a  constraint  unlike  the  old  times. 
When  under  the  influence  of  liquor,  he  would  pass 
me  in  the  streets  with  his  head  down,  a  deeper  flush 
mantling  his  cheek  as  he  hurried  by  with  unsteady 
step.  Sometimes  I  met  him  staggering  homeward 
through  a  back  street,  hiding  from  the  gaze  of 
men.  He  was  at  first  shy  of  me  when  sober,  but 
gradually  the  constraint  wore  off,  and  he  seemed 
disposed  to  draw  nearer  to  me,  as  in  the  old  days. 
His  struggle  went  on,  days  of  drunkenness  follow- 
ing weeks  of  soberness,  his  haggard  face  after  each 
debauch  wearing  a  look  of  unspeakable  weariness 
and  wretchedness.  One  of  the  lawyers  who  had 
led  him  into  the  mazes  of  doubt — a  man  of  large 
and  versatile  gifts,  whose  lips  were  touched  with  a 
noble  and  persuasive  eloquence — sunk  deeper  and 
deeper  into  the  black  depths  of  drunkenness,  until 
the  tragedy  ended  in  a  horror  that  lessened  the 
gains  of  the  saloons  for  at  least  a  few  days.  He 
was  found  dead  in  his  bed  one  morning  in  a  pool 
of  blood,  his  throat  cut  by  his  own  guilty  hand. 

My  friend  had  married  a  lovely  girl,  and  the 
cottage  in  which  they  lived  was  one  of  the  cosiest, 
and  the  garden  in  front  was  a  little  paradise  of 
neatness  and  beauty.  Ah!  I  must  drop  a  veil 
over  a  part  of  this  true  tale.  All  along  I  have 
written  under  half  protest,  the  image  of  a  sad, 


68  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

wistful  face  rising  at  times  between  my  eyes  and 
the  sheet  on  which  these  words  are  traced.  They 
loved  each  other  tenderly  and  deeply,  and  both 
were  conscious  of  the  presence  of  the  devil  that 
was  turning  their  heaven  into  hell. 

"  Save  him,  Doctor,  save  him !  He  is  the  noblest 
of  men,  and  the  tenderest,  truest  husband.  He 
loves  you,  and  he  will  let  you  talk  to  him.  Save 
him,  O  save  him !  Help  me  to  pray  for  him !  My 
heart  will  break ! " 

Poor  child !  her  loving  heart  was  indeed  break- 
ing; and  her  fresh  young  life  was  crushed  under  a 
weight  of  grief  and  shame  too  heavy  to  be  borne. 

What  he  said  to  me  in  the  interviews  held  in  his 
sober  intervals  I  have  not  the  heart  to  repeat  now. 
He  still  fought  against  his  enemy ;  he  still  buffeted 
the  billows  that  were  going  over  him,  though  with 
feebler  stroke.  When  their  little  child  died,  her 
tears  fell  freely,  but  he  was  like  one  stunned. 
Stony  and  silent  he  stood  and  saw  the  little  grave 
filled  up,  and  rode  away  tearless,  the  picture  of 
hopelessness. 

By  a  coincidence,  after  my  return  to  San  Fran- 
cisco, he  came  thither,  and  again  became  my  neigh- 
bor at  North  Beach.  I  went  up  to  see  him  one 
evening.  He  was  very  feeble,  and  it  was  plain 
that  the  end  was  not  far  off.  At  the  first  glance  I 
saw  that  a  great  change  had  taken  place  in  him. 


THE  REBLOOMING.  69 

He  had  found  his  lost  self.  The  strong  drink  was 
shut  out  from  him,  and  he  was  shut  in  with  his 
better  thoughts  and  with  God.  His  religious  life 
rebloomed  in  wondrous  beauty  and  sweetness.  The 
blossoms  of  his  early  joy  had  fallen  off,  the  storms 
had  torn  its  branches  and  stripped  it  of  its  foliage, 
but  its  root  had  never  perished,  because  he  had 
never  ceased  to  struggle  for  deliverance.  Aspira- 
tion and  hope  live  or  die  together  in  the  human 
soul.  The  link  that  bound  my  friend  to  God  was 
never  wholly  sundered.  His  better  nature  clung 
to  the  better  way  with  a  grasp  that  never  let  go 
altogether. 

"O  Doctor,  I  am  a  wonder  to  myself!  It  does 
seem  to  me  that  God  has  given  back  to  me  every 
good  thing  I  possessed  in  the  bright  and  blessed 
past.  It  has  all  come  back  to  me.  I  see  the  light 
and  feel  the  joy  as  I  did  when  I  first  entered  the 
new  life.  O  it  is  wonderful !  Doctor,  God  never 
gave  me  up,  and  I  never  ceased  to  yearn  for  his 
mercy  and  love,  even  in  the  darkest  season  of  my 
unhappy  life." 

His  very  face  had  recovered  its  old  look,  and 
his  voice  its  old  tone.  There  could  be  no  doubt 
of  it — his  soul  had  rebloomed  in  the  life  of  God. 

The  last  night  came — they  sent  for  me  with  the 
message, 

"  Come  quickly !  he  is  dying." 


70  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

I  found  him  with  that  look  which  I  have  seen 
on  the  faces  of  others  who  were  nearing  death — a 
radiance  and  a  rapture  that  awed  the  beholder. 
O  solemn,  awful  mystery  of  death !  I  have  stood 
in  its  presence  in  every  form  of  terror  and  of 
sweetness,  and  in  every  case  the  thought  has  been 
impressed  upon  me  that  it  was  a  passage  into  the 
Great  Realities. 

"Doctor/'  he  said,  smiling,  and  holding  my 
hand ;  "  I  had  hoped  to  be  with  you  in  your  office 
again,  as  in  the  old  days — not  as  a  business  ar- 
rangement, but  just  to  be  with  you,  and  revive  old 
memories,  and  to  live  the  old  life  over  again.  But 
that  cannot  be,  and  I  must  wait  till  we  meet  in  the 
world  of  spirits,  whither  I  go  before  you.  It  seems 
to  be  growing  dark.  I  cannot  see  your  face — hold 
my  hand.  I  am  going — going.  I  am  on  the  waves 
— on  the  waves — ."  The  radiance  Avas  still  upon 
his  face,  but  the  hand  I  held  no  longer  clasped 
mine — the  wasted  form  was  still.  It  was  the  end. 
\He  was  launched  upon  the  Infinite  Sea  for  the 
endless  voyage,  j 


THE  EMPEEOK  NOBTON. 


THAT  was  his  title.  He  wore  it  with  an  air 
that  was  a  strange  mixture  of  the  mock- 
heroic  and  the  pathetic.  He  was  mad  on  this  one 
point,  and  strangely  shrewd  and  well-informed  on 
almost  every  other.  Arrayed  in  a  faded-blue  uni- 
form, with  brass  buttons  and  epaulettes,  wearing  a 
cocked-hat  with  an  eagle's  feather,  and  at  times 
with  a  rusty  sword  at  his  side,  he  was  a  conspicu- 
ous figure  in  the  streets  of  San  Francisco,  and  a 
regular  habitue  of  all  its  public  places.  In  person 
he  was  stout,  full-chested,  though  slightly  stooped, 
with  a  large  head  heavily  coated  with  bushy  black 
hair,  an  aquiline  nose,  and  dark  gray  eyes,  whose 
mild  expression  added  to  the  benignity  of  his  face. 
On  the  end  of  his  nose  grew  a  tuft  of  long  hairs, 
which  he  seemed  to  prize  as  a  natural  mark  of 
royalty,  or  chieftainship.  Indeed,  there  was  a 
popular  legend  afloat  that  he  was  of  true  royal 
blood — a  stray  Bourbon,  or  something  of  the  sort. 

(71) 


72  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

His  speech  was  singularly  fluent  and  elegant.  The 
-Emperor  was  one  of  the  celebrities  that  no  visitor 
failed  to  see.  It  is  said  that  his  mind  was  un- 
hinged by  a  sudden  loss  of  fortune  in  the  early 
days,  by  the  treachery  of  a  partner  in  trade.  The 
sudden  blow  was  deadly,  and  the  quiet,  thrifty, 
affable  man  of  business  became  a  wreck.  By 
nothing  is  the  inmost  quality  of  a  man  made  more 
manifest  than  by  the  manner  in  which  he  meets 
misfortune.  One,  when  the  sky  darkens,  having 
strong  impulse  and  weak  will,  rushes  into  suicide ; 
another,  with  a  large  vein  of  cowardice,  seeks  to 
drown  the  sense  of  disaster  in  strong  drink;  yet 
another,  tortured  in  every  fiber  of  a  sensitive  or- 
ganization, flees  from  the  scene  of  his  troubles  and 
the  faces  of  those  that  know  him,  preferring  exile 
to  shame.  The  truest  man,  when  assailed  by  sud- 
den calamity,  rallies  all  the  reserved  forces  of  a 
splendid  manhood  to  meet  the  shock,  and,  like  a 
good  bhip,  lifting  itself  from  the  trough  of  the 
swelling  sea,  mounts  the  wave  and  rides  on.  It 
was  a  curious  idiosyncrasy  that  led  this  man,  when 
fortune  and  reason  were  swept  away  at  a  stroke, 
to  fall  back  upon  this  imaginary  imperialism.  The 
nature  that  could  thus,  when  the  real  fabric  of  life 
was  wrecked,  construct  such  another  by  the  exer- 
cise of  a  disordered  imagination,  must  have  been 
originally  of  a  gentle  and  magnanimous  type.  The 


THE  EMPEROR  NORTON.  73 

broken  fragments  of  mind,  like  those  of  a  statue, 
reveal  the  quality  of  the  original  creation.  It  may 
be  that  he  was  happier  than  many  who  have  worn^ 
real  crowns.  Napoleon  at  Chiselhurst,  or  his 
greater  uncle  at  St.  Helena,  might  have  been  gain- 
er by  exchanging  lots  with  this  man,  who  had  the 
inward  joy  of  conscious  greatness  without  its  bur- 
den and  its  perils.  To  all  public  places  he  had 
free  access,  and  no  pageant  was  complete  without 
his  presence.  From  time  to  time  he  issued  procla- 
mations, signed  "Norton  I.,"  which  the  lively  San 
Francisco  dailies  were  always  ready  to  print  con- 
spicuously in  their  columns.  The  style  of  these 
proclamations  was  stately,  the  royal  first  person 
plural  being  used  by  him  with  all  gravity  and  dig- 
nity. Ever  and  anon,  as  his  uniform  became  di- 
lapidated or  ragged,  a  reminder  of  the  condition 
of  the  imperial  wardrobe  would  be  given  in  one  or 
more  of  the  newspapers,  and  then  in  a  few  days  he 
would  appear  in  a  new  suit.  He  had  the  entree  of 
all  the  restaurants,  and  he  lodged  —  nobody  knew 
where.  It  was  said  that  he  was  cared  for  by  mem-  . 
bers  of  the  Freemason  Society  to  which  he  be- 
longed at  the  time  of  his  fall.  I  saw  him  often 
in  my  congregation  in  the  Pine-street  church,  along 
in  1858,  and  into  the  sixties.  He  was  a  respectful 
and  attentive  listener  to  preaching.  On  the  oc- 
casion of  one  of  his  first  visits  he  spoke  to  me, 


74  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

after  the  service,  saying,  in  a  kind  and  patronizing 
tone: 

"  I  think  it  my  duty  to  encourage  religion  and 
morality  by  showing  myself  at  church,  and  to 
avoid  jealousy  I  attend  them  all  in  turn." 

He  loved  children,  and  would  come  into  the 
Sunday-school,  and  sit  delighted  with  their  sing- 
ing. When,  in  distributing  the  presents  on  a 
Christmas-tree,  a  necktie  was  handed  him  as  the 
gift  of  the  young  ladies,  he  received  it  with  much 
satisfaction,  making  a  kingly  bow  of  gracious  ac- 
knowledgment. Meeting  him  one  day,  in  the 
spring-time,  holding  my  little  girl  by  the  hand,  he 
paused,  looked  at  the  child's  bright  face,  and  tak- 
ing a  rose-bud  from  his  button-hole,  he  presented 
it  to  her  with  a  manner  so  graceful,  and  a  smile  so 
benignant,  as  to  show  that  under  the  dingy  blue 
uniform  there  beat  the  heart  of  a  gentleman.  He 
kept  a  keen  eye  on  current  events,  and  sometimes 
expressed  his  views  with  great  sagacity.  One  day 
he  stopped  me  on  the  street,  saying  • 

"I  have  just  read  the  report  of  the  political 

sermon  of  Dr. (giving  the  name  of  a  noted 

sensational  preacher,  who  was  in  the  habit,  at 
times,  of  discussing  politics  from  his  pulpit).  I 
disapprove  political  -  preaching.  What  do  you 
think?" 

I  expressed  my  cordial  concurrence. 


THE  EMPEROR  NORTON.  75 

"  I  will  put  a  stop  to  it.  The  preachers  must 
stop  preaching  politics,  or  they  must  all  come  into 
one  State  Church.  I  will  at  once  issue  a  decree  to 
that  effect." 

For  some  unknown  reason,  that  decree  never  was 
promulgated. 

After  the  war,  he  took  a  deep  interest  in  the  re- 
construction of  the  Southern  States.  I  met  him  one 
day  on  Montgomery  street,  when  he  asked  me  in  a 
tone  and  with  a  look  of  earnest  solicitude: 

"Do  you  hear  any  complaint  or  dissatisfaction 
concerning  me  from  the  South?" 

I  gravely  answered  in  the  negative. 

"I  was  for  keeping  the  country  undivided,  but 
I  have  the  kindest  feeling  for  the  Southern  people, 
and  will  see  that  they  are  protected  in  all  their 
rights.  Perhaps  if  I  were  to  go  among  them  in 
person,  it  might  have  a  good  effect.  What  do  you 
think?" 

I  looked  at  him  keenly  as  I  made  some  suitable 
reply,  but  could  see  nothing  in  his  expression  but 
simple  sincerity.  He  seemed  to  feel  that  he  was 
indeed  the  father  of  his  people.  George  Washing- 
ton himself  could  not  have  adopted  a  more  pater- 
nal tone. 

Walking  along  the  street  behind  the  Emperor 
one  day,  my  curiosity  was  a  little  excited  by  see- 
ing him  thrust  his  hand  into  the  hip-pocket  of  his 


76  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

blue  trousers  with  sudden  energy.  The  hip-pocket, 
by  the  way,  is  a  modern  American  stupidity,  asso- 
ciated in  the  popular  mind  with  rowdyism,  pistol- 
shooting,  and  murder.  Hip -pockets  should  be 
abolished  wherever  there  are  courts  of  law  and 
civilized  men  and  women.  But  what  was  the 
Emperor  after?  Withdrawing  his  hand  just  as  I 
overtook  him,  the  mystery  was  revealed — it  grasped 
a  thick  Bologna  sausage,  which  he  began  to  eat 
with  unroyal  relish.  It  gave  me  a  shock,  but  he 
was  not  the  first  royal  personage  who  has  exhibited 
low  tastes  and  carnal  hankerings. 

He  was  seldom  made  sport  of  or  treated  rudely. 
I  saw  him  on  one  occasion  when  a  couple  of  pass- 
ing hoodlums  jeered  at  him.  He  turned  and  gave 
them  a  look  so  full  of  mingled  dignity,  pain,  and 
surprise,  that  the  low  fellows  were  abashed,  and 
uttering  a  forced  laugh,  with  averted  faces  they 
hurried  on.  .  The  presence  that  can  bring  shame 
to  a  San  Francisco  hoodlum  must  indeed  be  kingly, 
or  in  some  way  impressive.  In  that  genus  the 
beastliness  and  devilishness  of  American  city-life 
reach  their  lowest  denomination.  When  the  bru- 
tality of  the  savage  and  the  lowest  forms  of  civil- 
ized vice  are  combined,  human  nature  touches 
bottom. 

The  Emperor  never  spoke  of  his  early  life.  The 
veil  of  mystery  on  this  point  increased  the  popu- 


THE  EMPEROR  NORTON.  77 

lar  curiosity  concerning  him,  and  invested  him  with 
something  of  a  romantic  interest.  There  was  one 
thing  that  excited  his  disgust  and  indignation. 
The  Bohemians  of  the  San  Francisco  press  got 
into  the  practice  of  attaching  his  name  to  their 
satires  and  hits  at  current  follies,  knowing  that 
the  well-known  "  Norton  I."  at  the  end  would  in- 
sure a  reading.  This  abuse  of  the  liberty  of  the 
press  he  denounced  with  dignified  severity,  threat- 
ening extreme  measures  unless  it  were  stopped. 
But  nowhere  on  earth  did  the  press  exhibit  more 
audacity,  or  take  a  wider  range,  and  it  would  have 
required  a  sterner  heart  and  a  stronger  hand  than 
that  of  Norton  I.  to  put  a  hook  into  its  jaws. 

The  end  of  all  human  grandeur,  real  or  imagi- 
nary, comes  at  last.  The  Emperor  became  thinner 
and  more  stooped  as  the  years  passed.  The  humor 
of  his  hallucination  retired  more  and  more  into 
the  background,  and  its  pathetic  side  came  out 
more  strongly.  His  step  was  slow  and  feeble,  and 
there  was  that  look  in  his  eyes  so  often  seen  in  the 
old  and  sometimes  in  the  young,  just  before  the 
great  change  comes  —  a  rapt,  far-away  look,  sug- 
gesting that  the  invisible  is  coming  into  view,  the 
shadows  vanishing  and  the  realities  appearing. 
The  familiar  face  and  form  were  missed  on  the 
streets,  and  it  was  known  that  he  was  dead.  He 
had  gone  to  his  lonely  lodging,  and  quietly  lain 


78 


CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 


down  and  died.  The  newspapers  spoke  of  him 
with  pity  and  respect,  and  all  San  Francisco  took 
time,  in  the  midst  of  its  roar -and -rush  fever  of 
perpetual  excitement,  to  give  a  kind  thought  to 
the  dead  man  who  had  passed  over  to  the  life 
where  all  delusions  are  laid  aside,  where  the  mys- 
tery of  life  shall  be  revealed,  and  where  we  shall 
see  that  through  all  its  tangled  web  ran  the  golden 
thread  of  mercy.  His  life  was  an  illusion,  and 
the  thousands  who  sleep  with  him  in  Lone  Mount- 
ain waiting  the  judgment-day  were  his  brothers. 


CAMILLA  CAIN. 


SHE  was  from  Baltimore,  and  had  the  fair  face 
and  gentle  voice  peculiar  to  most  Baltimore 
women.  Her  organization  was  delicate  but  elas- 
tic— one  of  the  sort  that  bends  easily,  but  is  hard 
to  break.  In  her  eyes  was  that  look  of  wistful 
sadness  so  often  seen  in  holy  women  of  her  type. 
Timid  as  a  fawn,  in  the  class-meeting  she  spoke  of 
her  love  to  Jesus  and  delight  in  his  service  in  a 
voice  low  and  a  little  hesitating,  but  with  strangely 
thrilling  effect.  The  meetings  were  sometimes  held 
in  her  own  little  parlor  in  the  cottage  on  Dupont 
street,  and  then  we  always  felt  that  we  had  met 
where  the  Master  himself  was  a  constant  and  wel- 
come guest.  She  was  put  into  the  crucible.  For 
more  than  fifteen  years  she  suffered  unceasing  and 
intense  bodily  pain.  Imprisoned  in  her  sick-cham- 

I"  er,  she  fought  her  long,  hard  battle.     The  pain- 
istorted   limbs   lost   their   use,  the  patient  face 
axed  more  wan,  and  the  traces  of  agony  were  on 
"" 


80  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

it  always;  the  soft,  loving  eyes  were  often  tear- 
washed.  The  fires  were  hot,  and  they  burned  on 
through  the  long,  long  years  without  respite.  The 
mystery  of  it  all  was  too  deep  for  me;  it  was  too 
deep  for  her.  But  somehow  it  does  seem  that  the 
highest  suffer  most: 

The  sign  of  rank  in  Nature 

Is  capacity  for  pain, 
And  the  anguish  of  the  singer 

Makes  the  sweetness  of  the  strain. 

The  victory  of  her  faith  was  complete.  If  the 
inevitable  whyf  sometimes  was  in  her  thought,  no 
shadow  of  distrust  ever  fell  upon  her  heart.  Her 
sick-room  was  the  quietest,  brightest  spot  in  all  the 
city.  How  often  did  I  go  thither  weary  and  faint 
with  the  roughness  of  the  way,  and  leave  feeling 
that  I  had  heard  the  voices  and  inhaled  the  odors 
of  paradise!  A  little  talk,  a  psalm,  and  then  a 
prayer,  during  which  the  room  seemed  to  be  filled 
with  angel-presences;  after  which  the  thin,  pale 
face  was  radiant  with  the  light  reflected  from  our 
Im manual's  face.  I  often  went  to  see  her,  not  so 
much  to  convey  as  to  get  a  blessing.  Her  heart 
was  kept  fresh  as  a  rose  of  Sharon  in  the  dew  of 
the  morning.  The  children  loved  to  be  near  her; 
and  the  pathetic  face  of  the  dear  crippled  boy,  the 
pet  of  the  family,  was  always  brighter  in  her  pres- 
ence. Thrice  death  came  into  the  home-circle  with 


CAMILLA  CAIN.  81 

its  shock  and  mighty  wrench  ings  of  the  heart,  but 
the  victory  was  not  his,  but  hers.  Neither  death 
nor  life  could  separate  her  from  the  love  of  her 
Lord.  She  was  one  of  the  elect.  The  elect  are 
those  who  know,  having  the  witness  in  themselves 
She  was  conqueror  of  both — life  with  its  pain  and 
its  weariness,  death  with  its  terror  and  its  tragedy. 
She  did  not  endure  merely,  she  triumphed.  Borne 
on  the  wings  of  a  mighty  faith,  her  soul  was  at 
times  lifted  above  all  sin,  and  temptation,  and  pain, 
and  the  sweet,  abiding  peace  swelled  into  an  ec- 
stasy of  sacred  joy.  Her  swimming  eyes  and 
rapt  look  told  the  unutterable  secret.  She  has 
crossed  over  the  narrow  stream  on  whose  margin 
she  lingered  so  long ;  and  there  was  joy  on  the  other 
side  when  the  gentle,  patient,  holy  Camilla  Cain 
joined  the  glorified  throng. 

O  though  oft  depressed  and  lonely, 

All  my  fears  are  laid  aside, 
If  I  but  remember  only 

Such  as  these  have  lived  and  died ! 


LONE  MOUNTAIN. 

THE  sea-wind  sweeps  over  the  spot  at  times 
in  gusts  like  the  frenzy  of  hopeless  grief, 
and  at  times  in  sighs  as  gentle  as  those  heaved  by 
aged  sorrow  in  sight  of  eternal  rest-  The  voices 
of  the  great  city  come  faintly  over  the  sand-hills, 
with  subdued  murmur  like  a  lullaby  to  the  pale 
sleepers  that  are  here  lying  low.  When  the  winds 
are  quiet,  which  is  not  often,  the  moan  of  the 
mighty  Pacific  can  be  heard  day  or  night,  as  if 
it  voiced  in  muffled  tones  the  unceasing  woe  of 
a  world  under  the  reign  of  death.  Westward, 
on  the  summit  of  a  higher  hill,  a  huge  cross 
stretches  its  arms  as  if  embracing  the  living  and 
the  dead — the  first  object  that  catches  the  eye  of  the 
weary  voyager  as  he  nears  the  Golden  Gate,  the 
last  that  meets  his  lingering  gaze  as  he  goes  forth 
upon  the  great  waters.  O  sacred  emblem  of  the 
faith  with  which  we  launch  upon  life's  stormy 
main — of  the  hope  that  assures  that  we  shall  reach 
(82) 


LONE  MOUNTAIN.  83 

the  port  when  the  night  and  the  tempest  are  past! 
When  the  winds  are  high,  the  booming  of  the 
breakers  on  the  cliff  sounds  as  if  nature  were  im- 
patient of  the  long,  long  delay,  and  had  antici- 
pated the  last  thunders  that  wake  the  sleeping 
dead.  On  a  clear  day,  the  blue  Pacific,  stretching 
away  beyond  the  snowy  surf-line,  symbolizes  the 
shoreless  sea  that  rolls  through  eternity.  The 
Cliff  House  road  that  runs  hard  by  is  the  chief 
drive  of  the  pleasure -seekers  of  San  Fraji  Cisco. 
Gayety,  and  laughter,  and  heart-break,  and  tears, 
meet  on  the  drive;  the  wail  of  agony  and  the 
laugh  of  gladness  mingle  as  the  gay  crowds  dash 
by  the  slow-moving  procession  on  its  way  to  the 
grave.  How  often  have  I  made  that  slow,  sad  jour- 
ney to  Lone  Mountain  —  a  Via  Doloroso  to  many 
who  have  never  been  the  same  after  they  had  gone 
thither,  and  coming  back  found  the  light  quenched 
and  the  music  hushed  in  their  homes!  Thither  the 
dead  Senator  was  borne,  followed  by  the  tramping 
thousands,  rank  on  rank,  amid  the  booming  of  min- 
ute-guns, the  tolling  of  bells,  the  measured  tread  of 
plumed  soldiers,  and  the  roll  of  drums.  Thither 
was  carried,  in  his  rude  coffin,  the  "  unknown 
man  "  found  dead  in  the  streets,  to  be  buried  in 
potter's-field.  Thither  was  borne  the  hard  and 
grasping  idolater  of  riches,  who  clung  to  his  coin, 
and  clutched  for  more,  until  he  was  dragged  away 


84  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

by  the  one  hand  that  was  colder  and  stronger  than 
his  own.  Here  was  brought  the  little  child,  out 
of  whose  narrow  grave  there  blossomed  the  begin- 
nings of  a  new  life  to  the  father  and  mother,  who 
in  the  better  life  to  come  will  be  found  among  the 
blessed  company  of  those  whose  only  path  to  par- 
adise lay  through  the  valley  of  tears.  Here  were 
brought  the  many  wanderers,  whose  last  earthly 
wish  was  to  go  back  home,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
mountains,  to  die,  but  were  denied  by  the  stern 
messenger  who  never  waits  nor  spares.  And  here 
was  brought  the  mortal  part  of  the  aged  disci-* 
pie  of  Jesus,  in  whose  dying -chamber  the  two 
worlds  met,  and  whose  death-throes  were  demon^ 
strably  the  birth  of  a  child  of  God  into  the  life  of 
glory. 

The  first  time  I  ever  visited  the  place  was  to  at' 
tend  the  funeral  of  a  suicide.  The  dead  man  I 
had  known  in  Virginia,  when  I  was  a  boy.  He 
was  a  graduate  of  the  Virginia  Military  Institute, 
and  when  I  first  knew  him  he  was  the  captain  of 
a  famous  volunteer  company.  He  was  as  hand- 
some as  a  picture — the  admiration  of  the  girls, 
and  the  envy  of  the  young  men  of  his  native  town. 
He  was  among  the  first  who  rushed  to  California 
on  the  discovery  of  gold,  and  of  all  the  heroic 
men  who  gave  early  California  its  best  bias  none 
was  knightlier  than  this  handsome  Virginian; 


LONE  MOUNTAIN,  85 

none  won  stronger  friends,  or  had  brighter  hopes. 
He  was  the  first  State  Senator  from  San  Francisco. 
He  had  the  magnetism  that  won  and  the  nobility 
that  retained  the  love  of  men.  Some  men  push 
themselves  forward  by  force  of  intellect  or  of  will 
— this  man  was  pushed  upward  by  his  friends  be- 
cause he  had  their  hearts.  He  married  a  beauti- 
ful woman,  whom  he  loved  literally  unto  death.  I 
shall  not  recite  the  whole  story.  God  only  knows 
it  fully,  and  he  will  judge  righteously.  There  was 
trouble,  rage,  and  tears,  passionate  partings  and 
penitent  reunions — the  old  story  of  love  dying  a 
lingering  yet  violent  death.  On  the  fatal  morning 
I  met  him  on  Washington  street.  I  noticed  his 
manner  was  hurried  and  his  look  peculiar,  as  I 
gave  him  the  usual  salutation  and  a  hearty  grasp 
of  the  hand.  As  he  moved  away,  I  looked  after 
him  with  mingled  admiration  and  pity,  until 
his  faultless  figure  turned  the  corner  and  disap- 
peared. 

Ten  minutes  afterward  he  lay  on  the  floor  of  his 
room  dead,  with  a  bullet  through  his  brain,  his 
hair  dabbled  in  blood.  At  the  funeral-service,  in 
the  little  church  on  Pine  street,  strong  men  bowed 
their  heads  and  sobbed.  His  wife  sat  on  a  front 
seat,  pale  as  marble  and  as  motionless,  her  lips 
compressed  as  with  inward  pain ;  but  I  saw  no 
tears  on  the  beautiful  face.  At  the  grave  the 


86  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

body  had  been  lowered  to  its  resting-place,  and 
all  being  ready,  the  attendants  standing  with 
uncovered  heads,  I  wras  just  about  to  begin  the 
reading  of  the  solemn  words  of  the  burial-service, 
when  a  tall,  blue-eyed  man  with  gray  side-whiskers 
pushed  his  way  to  the  head  of  the  grave,  and  in  a 
voice  choked  with  passion,  exclaimed: 

"  There  lies  as  noble  a  gentleman  as  ever 
breathed,  and  he  owes  his  death  to  that  fiend ! " 
pointing  his  finger  at  the  wife,  who  stood  pale  and 
silent  looking  down  into  the  grave. 

She  gave  him  a  look  that  I  shall  never  forget, 
and  the  large  steely-blue  eyes  flashed  fire,  but  she 
spoke  no  word.  I  spoke : 

"  Whatever  may  be  your  feelings,  or  whatever 
the  occasion  for  them,  you  degrade  yourself  by 
such  an  exhibition  of  them  here." 

"That  is  so,  sir;  excuse  me,  my  feelings  over- 
came me,"  he  said,  and  retiring  a  few  steps,  he 
leaned  upon  a  branch  of  a  scrub-oak  and  sobbed 
like  a  child. 

The  farce  and  the  tragedy  of  real  life  were  here 
exhibited  on  another  occasion.  Among  my  ac- 
quaintances in  the  city  were  a  man  and  his  wife 
who  were  singularly  mismatched.  He  was  a  plain, 
unlettered,  devout  man,  who  in  a  prayer-meeting 
or  class-meeting  talked  with  a  simple-hearted  ear- 
nestness that  always  produced  a  happy  effect. 


LONE  MOUNTAIN.  87 

She  was  a  cultured  woman,  ambitious  and  worldly, 
and  so  fine-looking  that  in  her  youth  she  must 
have  been  a  beauty  and  a  belle,  They  lived  in 
different  worlds,  and  grew  wider  apart  as  time  passed 
by — he  giving  himself  to  religion,  she  giving  her- 
self to  the  wrorld.  In  the  gay  city  circles  in 
which  she  moved  she  was  a  little  ashamed  of  the 
quiet,  humble  old  man,  and  he  did  not  feel  at 
home  among  them.  There  was  no  formal  separa- 
tion, but  it  was  known  to  the  friends  of  the  family 
that  for  months  at  a  time  they  never  lived  together. 
The  fashionable  daughters  went  with  their  mother. 
The  good  old  man,  after  a  short  sickness,  died  in 
great  peace.  I  was  sent  for  to  officiate  at  the 
funeral-service.  There  was  a  large  gathering  of 
people,  and  a  brave  parade  of  all  the  externals  of 
grief,  but  it  was  mostly  dry-eyed  grief,  so  far  as  I 
could  see.  At  the  grave,  just  as  the  sun  that  was 
sinking  in  the  ocean  threw  his  last  rays  upon  the 
spot,  and  the  first  shovelful  of  earth  fell  upon  the 
coffin  that  had  been  gently  lowered  to  its  resting- 
place,  there  was  a  piercing  shriek  from  one  of  the 
carriages,  followed  by  the  exclamation: 

"What  shall  I  do?  How  can  I  live?  I  have 
lost  my  all!  O!  O!  O!" 

It  was  the  dead  man's  wife.  Significant  glances 
and  smiles  were  interchanged  by  the  by-standers. 
Approaching  the  carriage  in  wThich  the  woman 


88  CALIFORNIA  S 

was  sitting,  I  laid  my  hand  upon  her  arm,  looked 
her  in  the  face,  and  said : 

"Hush!" 

She  understood  me,  and  not  another  sound  did 
she  utter.  Poor  woman !  She  was  not  perhaps  as 
heartless  as  they  thought  she  was.  There  was  at 
least  a  little  remorse  in  those  forced  exclamations, 
when  she  thought  of  the  dead  man  in  the  coffin; 
but  her  eyes  were  dry,  and  she  stopped  very  short. 

Another  incident  recurs  to  me  that  points  in  a 
different  direction.  One  day  the  most  noted  gam- 
bler in  San  Francisco  called  on  me  with  the  re- 
quest that  I  should  attend  the  funeral  of  one  of  his 
friends,  who  had  died  the  night  before.  A  splendid- 
looking  fellow  was  this  knight  of  the  faro-table. 
More  than  six  feet  in  height,  with  deep  chest  and 
perfectly  rounded  limbs,  jet  black  hair,  brilliant 
black  eyes,  clear  olive  complexion,  and  easy  man- 
ners, he  might  have  been  taken  for  an  Italian  no- 
bleman or  a  Spanish  Don.  He  had  a  tinge  of 
Cherokee  blood  in  his  veins.  I  have  noticed  that 
this  cross  of  the  white  and  Cherokee  blood  often 
results  in  producing  this  magnificent  physical  de- 
velopment. I  have  known  a  number  of  women  of 
this  lineage,  who  were  very  queens  in  their  beauty 
and  carriage.  But  this  noted  gambler  was  illiter- 
ate. The  only  book  of  which  he  knew  or  cared 
much  was  one  that  had  fifty-two  pages,  with  twelve 


LOXE  MOCXTAIX.  89 

pictures.  If  he  had  been  educated,  he  might  have 
handled  the  reins  of  government,  instead  of  pre- 
siding over  a  nocturnal  banking  institution. 

"  Parson,  can  you  come  to  number ,  on  Kear- 
ney street,  to-morrow  at  ten  o'clock,  and  give  us  a 
few  words  and  a  prayer  over  a  friend  of  mine,  who 
died  last  night?" 

I  promised  to  be  there,  and  he  left. 

His  friend,  like  himself,  had  been  a  gambler. 
He  was  from  New  York.  He  was  well  educated, 
gentle  in  his  manners,  and  a  general  favorite  with 
the  rough  and  desperate  fellows  with  whom  he  as- 
sociated, but  with  whom  he  seemed  out  of  place. 
The  passion  for  gambling  had  put  its  terrible  spell 
on  him,  and  he  was  helpless  in  its  grasp.  But 
though  he  mixed  with  the  crowds  J;hat  thronged 
the  gambling-hells,  he  was  one  of  them  only  in  the 
absorbing  passion  for  play.  There  was  a  certain 
respect  shown  him  by  all  that  venturesome  frater- 
nity. He  went  to  Frazer  River  during  the  gold 
excitement.  In  consequence  of  exposure  and  pri- 
vation in  that  wild  chase  after  gold,  which  proved 
fatal  to  so  many  eager  adventurers,  he  contracted 
pulmonary  disease,  and  came  back  to  San  Fran- 
cisco to  die.  He  had  not  a  dollar.  His  gambler 
friend  took  charge  of  him,  placed  him  in  a  good 
boarding-place,  hired  a  nurse  for  him,  and  for 
nearly  a  year  provided  for  all  his  wants. 


90  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

"I  knew  him  when  he  was  in  better  luck/'  said 
he,  "and  felt  like  I  ought  to  stand  by  him." 

At  the  funeral  there  was  a  large  attendance  of 
gamblers,  with  a  sprinkling  of  women  whose  social 
status  was  not  clearly  defined  to  my  rnind.  During 
the  solemn  service  there  was  deep  feeling.  Down 
the  bronzed  face  of  the  noted  gambler  the  tears 
flowed  freely,  as  he  stood  near  the  foot  of  the  coffin. 
As  he  listened  to  those  thrilling  words  from  the 
fifteenth  chapter  of  First  Corinthians,  there  was  a 
look  of  wonder,  and  inquiry,  and  awe  on  his  face. 
What  were  his  thoughts  ?  At  the  cemetery  they  low- 
ered the  body  tenderly  into  the  grave,  listened  with 
uncovered  heads  to  the  closing  words  of  the  ritual 
for  the  burial  of  the  dead,  and  then  dispersed, 
doubtless  going  back  to  the  old  life,  but  it  may  be 
with  some  better  thoughts. 

I  was  sitting  in  my  office  at  work  on  the  same 
afternoon,  when  the  tall  and  portly  form  of  the 
gambler  presented  itself. 

"Parson,  you  went  through  that  funeral  this 
morning  in  a  way  that  suited  me.  Take  this,  with 
my  thanks." 

As  he  spoke  he  extended  his  hand  with  ever  so 
many  shining  gold  pieces — twenties,  tens,  and  fives. 

"  No,"  I  said ;  "it  is  contrary  to  the  usage  of  my 
Church  and  to  my  own  taste  to  take  pay  for  bury- 
ing a  fellow-man." 


LONE  MOUNTAIN.  91 

After  thoughtfully  considering  a  moment,  he 
said : 

"That  suits  me.  But  would  you  object  to  wear- 
ing a  little  trinket  on  your  watch-chain,  coming 
from  a  man  like  me  ?" 

Seeing  his  heart  was  set  on  it,  I  told  him  I  would 
not  decline  taking  such  a  token  of  his  good-will. 
The  gift  of  a  most  beautiful  and  costly  Japanese 
crystal  was  the  result.  I  wore  it  for  many  years, 
and  when  it  was  lost  at  Los  Angeles,  in  1877,  I 
felt  quite  sorry.  It  reminded  me  of  an  incident 
that  showed  the  good  side  of  human  nature  in  a 
circle  in  which  the  other  side  is  usually  uppermost. 

My  pencil  lingers,  as  I  think  of  this  far-away 
resting-place  of  the  dead,  and  as  I  lay  it  down,  I 
seem  to  hear  the  ocean's  moan  and  the  dirge  of 
the  winds ;  and  the  pale  images  of  many,  many 
faces  that  have  faded  away  into  the  darkness  of 
death  rise  before  me,  some  of  them  with  radiant 
smiles  and  beckoning  hands. 


NEWTON. 


THE  miners  called  him  the  "  Wandering  Jew." 
That  was  behind  his  back.  To  his  face  they 
addressed  him  as  Father  Newton.  He  walked  his 
circuits  in  the  northern  mines.  No  pedestrian 
could  keep  up  with  him,  as  with  his  long  form 
bending  forward,  his  immense  yellow  beard  that 
reached  to  his  breast  floating  in  the  wind,  he  strode 
from  camp  to  cainp  with  the  message  of  salvation. 
It  took  a  good  trotting  -  horse  to  keep  pace  with 
him.  Many  a  stout  prospector,  meeting  him  on  a 
highway,  after  panting  and  straining  to  bear  him. 
company,  had  to  fall  behind,  gazing  after  him  in 
wonder,  as  he  swept  out  of  sight  at  that  marvelous 
gait.  There  was  a  glitter  in  his  eye,  and  an  in- 
tensity of  gaze  that  left  you  in  doubt  whether  it 
was  genius  or  madness  that  it  bespoke.  It  was,  in 
truth,  a  little  of  both.  He  had  genius.  Nobody 
ever  talked  with  him,  or  heard  him  preach,  with- 
out finding  it  out.  The  rough  fellow  who  offended 
'(92) 


NEWTON.  93 

him  at  a  camp-meeting,  near  "Yankee  Jim's/'  no 
doubt  thought  him  mad.  He  was  making  some 
disturbance  just  as  the  long-bearded  old  preacher 
was  passing  with  a  bucket  of  water  in  his  hand. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  thundered,  stopping 
and  fixing  his  keen  eye  upon  the  rowdy. 

A  rude  and  profane  reply  was  made  by  the  jeer- 
ing sinner. 

Quick  as  thought  Newton  rushed  upon  him  with 
flashing  eye  and  uplifted  bucket,  a  picture  of  fiery 
wrath  that  was  too  much  for  the  thoughtless  scof- 
fer, who  fled  in  terror  amid  the  laughter  of  the 
crowd.  The  vanquished  son  of  Belial  had  no 
sympathy  from  anybody,  and  the  plucky  preacher 
was  none  the  less  esteemed  because  he  was  ready 
to  defend  his  Master's  cause  with  carnal  weapons. 
The  early  Californians  left  scarcely  any  path  of 
gin  unexplored,  and  were  a  sad  set  of  sinners,  but 
for  virtuous  women  and  religion  they  never  lost 
their  reverence.  Both  wrere  scarce  in  those  days, 
when  it  seemed  to  be  thought  that  gold-digging 
and  the  Decalogue  could  not  be  made  to  harmon- 
ize. The  pioneer  preachers  found  that  one  good 
woman  made  a  better  basis  for  evangelization  than 
a  score  of  nomadic  bachelors.  The  first  accession 
of  a  woman  to  a  church  in  the  mines  was  an 
epoch  in  its  history.  The  church  in  the  house  of 
Lydia  was  the  normal  type — it  must  be  anchored 


94  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

to  woman's  faith,  and  tenderness,  and  love,  in  the 
home. 

He  visited  San  Francisco  during  my  pastorate 
in  1858.  On  Sunday  morning  he  preached  a  ser- 
mon of  such  extraordinary  beauty  and  power  that 
at  the  night-service  the  house  was  crowded  by  a 
curious  congregation,  drawn  thither  by  the  report 
of  the  forenoon  effort.  His  subject  was  the  faith 
of  the  mother  of  Moses,  and  he  handled  it  in  his 
own  way.  The  powerful  effect  of  one  passage  I 
shall  never  forget.  It  was  a  description  of  the 
mother's  struggle,  and  the  victory  of  her  faith  in 
the  crisis  of  her  trial.  No  longer  able  to  protect 
her  child,  she  resolves  to  commit  him  to  her  God. 
He  drew  a  picture  of  her  as  she  sat  weaving  to- 
gether the  grasses  of  the  little  ark  of  bulrushes, 
her  hot  tears  falling  upon  her  work,  and  pausing 
from  time  to  time  with  her  hand  pressed  upon  her 
throbbing  Ifeart.  At  length,  the  little  vessel  is 
finished,  and  she  goes  by  night  to  the  bank  of  the 
Nile,  to  take  the  last  chance  to  save  her  boy  from 
the  knife  of  the  murderers.  Approaching  the 
river's  edge,  with  the  ark  in  her  hands,  she  stoops 
a  moment,  but  her  mother's  heart  fails  her.  How 
can  she  give  up  her  child?  In  frenzy  of  grief  she 
sinks  upon  her  knees,  and  lifting  her  gaze  to  the 
heavens,  passionately  prays  to  the  God  of  Israel. 
That  prayer !  It  was  the  wail  of  a  breaking  heart, 


a  cry  out  of  the  depths  of  a  mighty  agony.  But 
as  she  prays  the  inspiration  of  God  enters  her  soul, 
her  eyes  kindle,  and  her  face  beams  with  the  holy 
light  of  faith.  She  rises,  lifts  the  little  ark,  looks 
upon  the  sleeping  face  of  the  fair  boy,  prints  a 
long,  long  kiss  upon  his  brow,  and  then  with  a 
firm  step  she  bends  down,  and  placing  the  tiny 
vessel  upon  the  waters,  lets  it  go.  "And  away  it 
went,"  he  said,  "rocking  upon  the  waves  as  it 
swept  beyond  the  gaze  of  the  mother's  straining 
eyes.  The  monsters  of  the  deep  were  there,  the 
serpent  of  the  Nile  was  there,  behemoth  was  there, 
but  the  child  slept  as  sweetly  and  as  safely  upon 
the  rocking  waters  as  if  it  were  nestled  upon  its 
mother's  breast — far  God  was  there!"  The  effect 
was  electric.  The  concluding  words,  "for  God  was 
there!  "  were  uttered  with  upturned  face  and  lifted 
hands,  and  in  a  tone  of  voice  that  thrilled  the 
hearers  like  a  sudden  clap  of  thunder  from  a  cloud 
over  whose  bosom  the  lightnings  had  rippled  in 
gentle  flashes,  It  was  true  eloquence. 

In  a  revival  -  meeting,  on  another  occasion,  he 
said,  in  a  sermon  of  terrific  power:  "O  the  hard- 
ness of  the  human  heart!  Yonder  is  a  man  in 
hell.  He  is  told  that  there  is  one  condition  on 
which  he  may  be  delivered,  and  that  is  that  he 
must  get  the  consent  of  every  good  being  in  the 
universe.  A  ray  of  hope  enters  his  soul,  and  he 


96  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

sets  out  to  comply  with  the  condition.  He  visits 
heaven  and  earth,  and  finds  sympathy  and  consent 
from  all.  All  the  holy  angels  consent  to  his  par- 
don ;  all  the  pure  and  holy  on  earth  consent;  God 
himself  repeats  the  assurance  of  his  willingness 
that  he  may  be  saved.  Even  in  hell,  the  devils  do 
not  object,  knowing  that -his  misery  only  heightens 
theirs.  All  are  willing,  all  are  ready  —  all  but 
one  man.  He  refuses;  he  will  not  consent.  A 
monster  of  cruelty  and  wickedness,  he  refuses  his 
simple  consent  to  save  a  soul  from  an  eternal  hell ! 
Surely  a  good  God  and  all  good  beings  in  the  uni- 
verse would  turn  in  horror  from  such  a  monster. 
Sinner,  you  are  that  man!  The  blessed  God,  the 
Holy  Trinity,  every  angel  in  heaven,  every  good 
man  and  woman  on  earth,  are  not  only  willing  but 
anxious  that  you  shall  be  saved.  But  you  will  not 
consent.  You  refuse  to  come  to  Jesus  that  you 
may  have  life.  You  are  the  murderer  of  your 
own  immortal  soul.  You  drag  yourself  down  to 
hell.  You  lock  the  door  of  your  own  dungeon  of 
eternal  despair,  and  throw  the  key  into  the  bot-' 
to  in  less  pit,  by  rejecting  the  Lord  that  bought  you 
with  his  blood!  You  will  be  lost!  you  must  be 
lost!  you  ought  to  be  lost!" 

The  words  were  something  like  these,  but  the 
energy,  the  passion,  the  frenzy  of  the  speaker  must 
be  imagined.  Hard  and  stubborn  hearts  were 


NEWTON.  97 

moved  under  that  thrilling  appeal.  They  were 
made  to  feel  that  the  preacher's  picture  of  a  self- 
doomed  soul  described  their  own  cases.  There  was 
joy  in  heaven  that  night  over  repenting  sinners. 

This  old  man  of  the  mountains  was  a  walking 
encyclopedia  of  theological  and  other  learning. 
He  owned  books  that  could  not  be  duplicated  in 
California ;  and  he  read  them,  digested  their  con- 
tents, and  constantly  surprised  his  cultivated  hear- 
ers by  the  affluence  of  his  knowledge,  and  the  fer- 
tility of  his  literary  and  classic  allusion.  He  wrote 
with  elegance  and  force.  His  weak  point  was  or- 
thography. He  would  trip  sometimes  in  the  spell- 
ing of  the  most  common  words.  His  explanation 
of  this  weakness  was  curious:  He  was  a  printer 
in  Mobile,  Alabama.  On  one  occasion  a  thirty- 
two-page  book-form  of  small  type  was  "  pied/'  "  I 
undertook,"  said  he,  "to  set  that  pied  form  to 
rights,  and,  in  doing  so,  the  words  got  so  mixed  in 
my  brain  that  my  spelling  was  spoiled  forever!" 

He  went  to  Oregon,  and  traveled  and  preached 
from  the  Cascade  Mountains  to  Idaho,  thrilling, 
melting,  and  amusing,  in  turn,  the  crowds  that 
came  out  to  hear  the  wild-looking  man  whose  com- 
ing was  so  sudden,  and  whose  going  was  so  rapid, 
that  they  were  lost  in  wonder,  as  if  gazing  at  a 
meteor  that  flashed  across  the  sky. 

He  was  a  Yankee  from  New  Hampshire,  who, 


$9  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

going  to  Alabama,  lost  his  heart,  and  was  ever 
afterward  intensely  Southern  in  all  his  convictions 
and  affections.  His  fiery  soul  found  congenial 
spirits  among  the  generous,  hot-blooded  people  of 
the  Gulf  States,  whose  very  faults  had  a  sort  of 
charm  for  this  impulsive,  generous,  erratic,  gifted, 
man.  He  made  his  way  back  to  his  New  England 
hills,  where  he  is  waiting  for  the  sunset,  often  turn- 
ing a  longing  eye  southward,  and  now  and  then 
sending  a  greeting  to  Alabama. 


THE  CALIFORNIA  POLITICIAN. 


THE  California  politician  of  the  early  days 
was  plucky.  He  had  to  be  so,  for  faint  heart 
won  no  votes  in  those^rough  times.  One  of  the 
Marshalls  (Tom  or  Ned — I  forget  which),  at  the 
beginning  of  a  stump -speech  one  night  in  the 
mines,  was  interrupted  by  a  storm  of  hisses  and 
execrations  from  a  turbulent  crowd  of  fellows, 
many  of  whom  were  full  of  whisky.  He  paused 
a  moment,  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height, 
coolly  took  a  pistol  from  his  pocket,  laid  it  on  the 
stand  before  him,  and  said : 

"  I  have  seen  bigger  crowds  than  this  many 
a  time.  I  want  it  to  be  fully  understood  that  I 
came  here  to  make  a  speech  to-night,  and  I  am 
going  to  do  it,  or  else  there  will  be  a  funeral  or 
two." 

That  touch  took  with  that  crowd.  The  one 
thing  they  all  believed  in  was  courage.  Marshall 
made  one  of  his  grandest  speeches,  and  at  the  close 

(90) 


100  CALiFdENiA  SKETCHES. 

the  delighted  miners  bore  him  in  triumph  from  the 
rostrum. 

That  was  a  curious  exordium  of  "Uncle  Peter 
Mehan,"  when  he  made  his  first  stump-speech  at 
Sonora :  "  Fellow-citizens,  I  was  born  an  orphin  at  a 
very  early  period  of  my  life."  He  was  a  candidate 
for  supervisor,  and  the  good-natured  miners  elected 
him  triumphantly.  He  made  a  good  supervisor, 
which  is  another  proof  that  book-learning  and  ele- 
gant rhetoric  are  not  essential  where  there  are  in- 
tegrity and  native  good  sense.  Uncle  Peter  never 
stole  any  thing,  and  he  was  usually  on  the  right 
side  of  all  questions  that  claimed  the  attention  of 
the  county-fathers  of  Tuolumne. 

In  the  early  days,  the  Virginians,  New  Yorkers, 
and  Tennesseans,  led  in  politics.  Trained  to  the 
stump  at  home,  the  Virginians  and  Tennesseans 
were  ready  on  all  occasions  to  run  a  primary- 
meeting,  a  convention,  or  a  canvass.  There  was 
scarcely  a  mining-camp  in  the  State  in  which  there 
was  not  a  leading  local  politician  from  one  or  both 
of  these  States.  The  New  Yorker  understood  all 
the  inside  management  of  party  organization,  and 
was  up  to  all  the  smart  tactics  developed  in  the  live- 
ly struggles  of  parties  in  the  times  when  Whiggery 
and  Democracy  fiercely  fought  for  rule  in  the  Em- 
pire State.  Broderick  was  a  New  Yorker,  trained 
by  Tammany  in  its  palmy  days.  He  was  a  chief, 


THE  CALIFORNIA  POLITICIAN.  101 

who  rose  from  the  ranks,  and  ruled  by  force  of 
will.  Thick-set,  strong-limbed,  full-chested,  with 
immense  driving -power  in  his  back -head,  he  was 
an  athlete  whose  stalwart  physique  wras  of  more 
value  to  him  than  the  gift  of  eloquence,  or  even 
the  power  of  money.  The  sharpest  lawyers  and 
the  richest  money-kings  alike  went  down  before 
this  uncultured  and  moneyless  man,  who  domi- 
nated the  clans  of  San  Francisco  simply  by  right 
of  his  manhood.  He  was  not  without  a  sort  of 
eloquence  of  his  own.  He  spoke  right  to  the  point, 
and  his  words  fell  like  the  thud  of  a  shillalah,  or 
rang  like  the  clash  of  steel.  He  dealt  with  the 
rough  elements  of  politics  in  an  exciting  and  tur- 
bulent period  of  California  politics,  and  was  more 
of  a  border  chief  than  an  Ivanhoe  in  his  modes  of 
warfare.  He  reached  the  United  States  Senate, 
and  in  his  first  speech  in  that  august  body  he  hon- 
ored his  manhood  by  an  allusion  to  his  father,  a 
stone  -  mason,  whose  hands,  said  Broderick,  had 
helped  to  erect  the  very  walls  of  the  chamber  in 
which  he  spoke.  When  a  man  gets  as  high  as  the 
United  States  Senate,  there  is  less  tax  upon  hi? 
magnanimity  in  acknowledging  his  humble  origin 
than  while  he  is  lower  down  the  ladder.  You  sel- 
dom hear  a  man  boast  how  low  he  began  until 
he  is  far  up  toward  the  summit  of  his  ambition. 
Ninety-nine  out  of  every  hundred  self-made  men 


102  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

are  at  first  more  or  less  sensitive  concerning  their 
low  birth ;  the  hundredth  man  who  is  not  is  a 
man  indeed. 

Broderick's  great  rival  was  Gwin.  The  men 
were  antipodes  in  every  thing  except  that  they  be- 
longed to  the  same  party.  Gwin  still  lives,  the 
most  colossal  figure  in  the  history  of  California. 
He  looks  the  man  he  is.  Of  immense  frame,  rud- 
dy complexion,  deep-blue  eyes  that  almost  blaze 
when  he  is  excited,  rugged  yet  expressive  features, 
a  massive  head  crowned  with  a  heavy  suit  of  sil- 
ver-white hair,  he  is  marked  by  Nature  for  leader- 
ship. Common  men  seem  dwarfed  in  his  presence. 
After  he  had  dropped  out  of  California  politics  for 
awhile,  a  Sacramento  hotel-keeper  expressed  what 
many  felt  during  a  legislative  session:  "I  find  my- 
self looking  around  for  Gwin.  I  miss  the  chief." 

My  first  acquaintance  with  Dr.  Gwin  began  with 
an  incident  that  illustrates  the  man  and  the  times. 
It  was  in  1856.  The  Legislature  was  in  session  at 
Sacramento,  and  a  United  States  Senator  was  to 
be  elected.  I  was  making  a  tentative  movement 
toward  starting  a  Southern  Methodist  newspaper, 
and  visited  Sacramento  on  that  business.  My 
friend  Major  P.  L.  Solomon  was  there,  and  took 
a  friendly  interest  in  my  enterprise.  He  proposed 
to  introduce  me  to  the  leading  men  of  both  parties, 
and  I  thankfully  availed  myself  of  his  courtesy. 


THE  CALIFORNIA  POLITICIAN.          103 

Among  the  first  to  whom  he  presented  me  was  a 
noted  politician  who,  both  before  and  since,  has 
enjoyed  a  national  notoriety,  and  who  still  lives, 
and  is  as  ready  as  ever  to  talk  or  fight.  His  name 
I  need  not  give.  I  presented  to  him  my  mission, 
and  he  seemed  embarrassed. 

"I  am  with  you,  of  course.  My  mother  was  a 
Methodist,  and  all  my  sympathies  are  with  the 
Methodist  Church.  I  am  a  Southern  man  in  all 
my  convictions  and  impulses,  and  I  am  a  Southern 
Methodist  in  principle.  But  you  see,  sir,  I  am  a 
candidate  for  United  States  Senator,  and  sectional 
feeling  is  likely  to  enter  into  the  contest,  and  if  it 
were  known  that  my  name  was  on  your  list  of  sub- 
scribers, it  might  endanger  my  election." 

He  squeezed  my  arm,  told  me  he  loved  me  and 
my  Church,  said  he  would  be  happy  to  see  me 
often,  and  so  forth — but  he  did  not  give  me  his 
name.  I  left  him,  saying  in  my  heart,  Here  is  a 
politician. 

Going  on  together,  in  the  corridor  we  met  Gwin. 
Solomon  introduced  me,  and  told  him  my  business. 

"I  am  glad  to  know  that  you  are  going  to  start  a 
Southern  Methodist  newspaper.  No  Church  can  do 
without  its  organ.  Put  me  down  on  your  list,  and 
come  with  me,  and  I  will  make  all  these  fellows 
subscribe.  There  is  not  much  religion  among  them, 
I  fear,  but  we  will  make  them  take  the  paper." 


104  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES* 

This  was  said  in  a  hearty  and  pleasant  way,  and 
he  took  me  from  man  to  man,  until  I  had  gotten 
more  than  a  dozen  names,  among  them  two  or 
three  of  his  most  active  political  opponents. 

This  incident  exhibits  the  two  types  of  the  poli- 
tician, and  the  two  classes  of  men  to  be  found  in 
all  communities — the  one  all  "  blarney  "  and  self- 
ishness, the  other  with  real  manhood  redeeming 
poor  human  nature,  and  saving  it  from  utter  con- 
tempt. The  senatorial  prize  eluded  the  grasp  of 
both  aspirants,  but  the  reader  will  not  be  at  a  loss 
to  guess  whose  side  I  was  on.  Dr.  Gwin  made  a 
friend  that  day,  and  never  lost  him.  It  was  this 
sort  of  fidelity  to  friends  that,  when  fortune  frowned 
on  the  grand  old  Senator  after  the  collapse  at  Ap- 
pomattox,  rallied  thousands  of  true  hearts  to  his 
side,  among  whom  were  those  who  had  fought  him 
in  many  a  fierce  political  battle.  Broderick  and 
Gwin  were  both,  by  a  curious  turn  of  political 
fortune,  elected  by  the  same  Legislature  to  the 
United  States  Senate.  Broderick  sleeps  in  Lone 
Mountain,  and  Gwin  still  treads  the  stage  of  his 
former  glory,  a  living  monument  of  the  days  when 
California  politics  was  half  romance  and  half 
tragedy.  The  friend  and  protege  of  General  An- 
drew Jackson,  a  member  of  the  first  Constitutional 
Convention  of  California,  twice  United  States  Sen- 
ator, a  prominent  figure  in  the  civil  war,  the  father 


THE  CALIFORNIA  POLITICIAN.        105 

of  the  great  Pacific  Railway,  he  is  the  front  figure 
on  the  canvas  of  California  history. 

Gwin  was  succeeded  by  McDougall.  What  a 
man  was  he!  His  face  was  as  classic  as  a  Greek 
statue.  It  spoke  the  student  and  the  scholar  in 
every  line.  His  hair  was  snow-white,  his  eyes 
bluish-gray,  and  his  form  sinewy  and  elastic.  He 
went  from  Illinois,  with  Baker  and  other  men  of 
genius,  and  soon  won  a  high  place  at  the  bar  of 
San  Francisco.  I  heard  it  said,  by  an  eminent 
jurist,  that  when  McDougall  had  put  his  whole 
strength  into  the  examination  of  a  case,  his  side 
of  it  was  exhausted.  His  reading  was  immense, 
his  learning  solid.  His  election  was  doubtless  a 
surprise  to  himself  as  well  as  to  the  California 
public.  The  day  before  he  left  for  Washington 
City,  I  met  him  in  the  street,  and  as  we  parted  I 
held  his  hand  a  moment,  and  said : 

"  Your  friends  will  watch  your  career  with  hope 
and  with  fear/' 

He  knew  what  I  meant,  and  said,  quickly : 

"I  understand  you.  You  are  afraid  that  I 
will  yield  to  my  weakness .  for  strong  drink. 
But  you  may  be  sure  I  will  play  the  man,  and 
California  shall  have  no  cause  to  blush  on  my 
account." 

That  was  his  fatal  weakness.  No  one,  looking 
upon  his  pale,  scholarly  face,  and  noting  his  fault- 


106  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

lessly  neat  apparel,  and  easy,  graceful  manners, 
would  have  thought  of  such  a  thing.  Yet  he  was 
a- — I  falter  in  writing  it — a  drunkard.  At  times 
he  drank  deeply  and  madly.  When  half  intoxi- 
cated he  was  almost  as  brilliant  as  Hamlet,  and  as 
rollicking  as  FalstafF.  It  was  said  that  even  when 
fully  drunk  his  splendid  intellect  never  entirely 
gave  way. 

"McDouerall   commands  as  much  attention  in 

o 

the  Senate  when  drunk  as  any  other  Senator  does 
when  sober,"  said  a  Congressman  in  Washington 
in  1866.  It  is  said  that  his  great  speech  on  the 
question  of  "confiscation/'  at  the  beginning  of  the 
war,  was  delivered  when  he  was  in  a  state  of  semi- 
intoxication.  Be  that  as  it  may,  it  exhausted  the 
whole  question,  and  settled  the  policy  of  the  Gov- 
ernment. 

"No  one  will  watch  your  senatorial  career  with 
more  friendly  interest  than  myself;  and  if  you  will 
abstain  wholly  from  all  strong  drink,  we  shall  all 
be  proud  of  you,  I  knovy." 

"  Not  a  drop  will  I  touch,  my  friend ;  and  I  '11 
make  you  proud  of  me." 

He  spoke  feelingly,  and  I  think  there  was  a 
moisture  about  his  eye  as  he  pressed  iny  hand  and 
walked  away. 

I  never  saw7  him  again.  For  the  first  few  months 
he  wrote  to  me  often,  and  then  his  letters  came  at 


THE  CALIFORNIA  POLITICIAN.         107 

longer  intervals,  and  then  they  ceased.  And  then 
the  newspapers  disclosed  the  shameful  secret — Cal- 
ifornia's brilliant  Senator  was  a  drunkard.  Tn£ 
temptations  of  the  Capital  were  too  strong  for  him. 
He  went  down  into  the  black  waters  a  complete 
wreck.  He  returned  to  the  old  home  of  his  boy- 
hood in  New  Jersey  to  die.  I  learned  that  he  was 
lucid  and  penitent  at  the  last.  They  brought  his 
body  back  to  San  Francisco  to  be  buried,  and  when 
at  his  funeral  the  words  "I  know  that  my  Re- 
deemer liveth,"  in  clear  soprano,  rang  through  the 
vaulted  cathedral  like  a  peal  of  triumph,  I  in- 
dulged the  hope  that  the  spirit  of  my  gifted  and 
fated  friend  had,  through  the  mercy  of  the  Friend 
of  sinners,  gone  from  his  boyhood  hills  up  to  the 
hills  of  God. 

The  typical  California  politician  was  Coifroth. 
The  "boys"  fondly  called  him  "Jim"  Coffroth. 
There  is  no  surer  sign  of  popularity  than'  a  popular 
abbreviation  of  this  sort,  unless  it  is  a  pet  nick- 
name. Coffroth  was  from  Pennsylvania,  where  he 
had  gained  an  inkling  of  politics  and  general  liter- 
ature. He  gravitated  into  California  politics  by 
the  law  of  his  nature.  He  was  born  for  this,  hav- 
ing what  a  friend  calls  the  gift  of  popularity.  His 
presence  was  magnetic;  his  laugh  was  contagious; 
his  enthusiasm  irresistible.  Nobody  ever  thought 
of  taking  offense  at  Jim  Coffroth.  He  could 


108  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

change  his  politics  with  impunity  without  losing 
a  friend — he  never  had  a  personal  enemy;  but 
J  believe  he  only  made  that  experiment  once.  He 
went  off  with  the  Know-nothings  in  1855,  and  was 
elected  by  them  to  the  State  Senate,  and  was  called 
to  preside  over  their  State  Convention.  He  has- 
tened back  to  his  old  party  associates,  and  at  the 
first  convention  that  met  in  his  county  on  his  re- 
turn from  the  Legislature,  he  rose  and  told  them 
how  lonesome  he  had  felt  while  astray  from  the 
old  fold,  how  glad  he  was  to  get  back,  and  how 
humble  he  felt,  concluding  by  advising  all  his  late 
supporters  to  do  as  he  had  done  by  taking  "a 
straight  chute"  for  the  old  party.  He  ended  amid 
a  storm  of  applause,  was  reinstated  at  once,  and 
was  made  President  of  the  next  Democratic  State 
Convention.  There  he  was  in  his  glory.  His  tact 
and  good  humor  were  infinite,  and  he  held  those 
hundreds  of  excitable  and  explosive  men  in  the 
hollow  of  his  hand.  He  would  dismiss  a  danger- 
ous motion  with  a  witticism  so  apt  that  the  mover 
himself  would  join  in  the  laugh,  and  give  it  up. 
His  broad  face  in  repose  was  that  of  a  Quaker,  at 
other  times  that  of  a  Bacchus.  There  was  a  relig- 
ious streak  in  this  jolly  partisan,  and  he  published 
several  poems  that  breathed  the  sweetest  and  loft- 
iest religious  sentiment.  The  newspapers  were  a 
little  disposed  to  make  a  joke  of  these  ebullitions 


THE  CALIFORNIA  POLITICIAN.        109 

of  devotional  feeling,  but  they  now  make  the  light 
that  casts  a  gleam  of  brightness  upon  the  back- 
ground of  his  life.  I  take  from  an  old  volume  of 
the  Christian  Spectator  one  of  these  poems  as  a  lit- 
erary curiosity.  Every  man  lives  two  lives.  The 
rollicking  politician,  "Jim  Coffroth,"  every  Cali- 
fornian  knew;  the  author  of  these  lines  was  an- 
other man  by  the  same  name: 

AMID  THE  SILENCE  OF  THE  NIGHT. 

"  Behold,  he  that  keepeth  Israel  shall  neither  slumber  nor  sleep." 
Psalm  cxxi,. 

Amid  the  silence  of  the  night, 
Amid  its  lonely  hours  and  dreary, 

When  we  close  the  aching  sight, 
Musing  sadly,  lorn  and  weary, 

Trusting  that  to-morrow's  light 
May  reveal  a  day  more  cheery ; 

Amid  affliction's  darker  hour, 

When  no  hope  beguiles  our  sadness, 

When  Death's  hurtling  tempests  lower, 
And  forever  shroud  our  gladness, 

While  Grief's  unrelenting  power 

Goads  our  stricken  hearts  to  madness ; 

When  from  friends  beloved  we  're  parted, 

And  from  scenes  our  spirits  love, 
And  are  driven,  broken-hearted, 

O'er  a  heartless  world  to  rove; 
When  the  woes  by  which  we  've  smarted, 

Vainly  seek  to  melt  or  move ; 


110  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

When  we  trust  and  are  deluded, 

When  we  love  and  are  denied, 
When  the  schemes  o'er  which  we  brooded 

Burst  like  mist  on  mountain's  side, 
And,  from  every  hope  excluded, 

We  in  dark  despair  abide ; 

Then,  and  ever,  God  sustains  us, 
He  whose  eye  no  slumber  knows, 

Who  controls  each  throb  that  pains  us, 
And  in  mercy  sends  our  woes, 

And  by  love  severe  constrains  ms 
To  avoid  eternal  throes. 

Happy  he  whose  heart  obeys  him  \ 

Lost  and  ruined  who  disown  ! 
O  if  idols  e'er  displace  him, 

Tear  them  from  his  chosen  throne ! 
May  our  lives  and  language  praise  him ! 

May  our  hearts  be  his  alone ! 

He  took  defeat  with  a  good  nature  that  robbed 
it  of  its  sting,  and  made  his  political  opponents 
half  sorry  for  having  beaten  him.  He  was  talked 
of  for  Governor  at  one  time,  and  he  gave  as  a 
reason  why  he  would  like  the  office  that  "  a  great 
many  of  his  friends  were  in  the  State-prison,  and 
he  wanted  to  use  the  pardoning  power  in  their  be- 
half." This  was  a  jest,  of  course,  referring  to  the 
fact  that  as  a  lawyer  much  of  his  practice  was  in 
tbe  criminal  courts.  He  was  never  suspected  of 
treachery  or  dishonor  in  public  or  private  life. 


TITE  CALIFORNIA  POLITICIAN.        Ill 

His  very  ambition  was  unselfish:  lie  was  always 
ready  to  sacrifice  himself  in  a  hopeless  candidacy 
if  lie  could  thereby  help  his  party  or  a  friend. 

His  good  nature  was  tested  once  while  presiding 
over  a  party  convention  at  Sonora  for  the  nomina- 
tion of  candidates  for  legislative  and  county  of- 
fices. Among  the  delegates  was  the  eccentric  John 
Vallew,  whose  mind  was  a  singular  compound  of 
shrewdness  and  flightiness,  and  was  stored  with  the 
most  out-of-the-way  scraps  of  learning,  philosophy, 
and  poetry.  Some  one  proposed  Vallew's  name 
as  a  candidate  for  the  Legislature.  He  rose  to  his 
feet  with  a  clouded  face,  and  in  an  angry  voice 
said : 

"Mr.  President,  I  am  surprised  and  mortified. 
I  have  lived  in  this  county  more  than  seven  years, 
and  I  have  never  had  any  difficulty  with  my  neigh- 
bors. I  did  not  know  that  I  had  an  enemy  in  the 
world.  What  have  I  done,  that  it  should  be  pro- 
posed to  send  me  to  the  Legislature?  What  reason 
has  anybody  to  think  I  am  that  sort  of  a  man? 
To  think  I  should  have  come  to  this!  To  propose 
to  send  me  to  the  Legislature,  when  it  is  a  notorious 
fact  that  you  have  never  sent  a  man  thither  from 
this  county  who  did  not  come  back  morally  and  pe- 
cuniarily ruined  !  " 

The  crowd  saw  the  point,  and  roared  with  laugh- 
ter, Ooffroth,  who  had  served  in  the  previous  ses- 


112  -CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

sion,  joining  heartily  in  the  merriment.     Vallew 
was  excused. 

Coffroth  grew  fatter  and  jollier;  his  strong  intel- 
lect struggled  against  increasing  sensual  tenden- 
cies. What  the  issue  might  have  been,  I  know  not. 
He  died  suddenly,  and  his  destiny  was  transferred 
to  another  sphere.  So  there  dropped  out  of  Cali- 
fornia-life a  partisan  without  bitterness,  a  satirist 
without  malice,  a  wit  without  a  sting,  the  jolliest, 
freest,  readiest  man  that  ever  faced  a  California 
audience  on  the  hustings — the  typical  politician  of 
California. 


OLD  MAN  LOWRY. 


I  HAD  marked  his  expressive  physiognomy 
among  my  hearers  in  the  little  church  in  So- 
nora  for  some  weeks  before  he  made  himself 
known  to  me.  As  I  learned  afterward,  he  was 
weighing  the  young  preacher  in  his  critical  bal- 
ances. He  had  a  shrewd  Scotch  face,  in  which 
there  was  a  mingling  of  keenness,  benignity,  and 
humor.  His  age  might  be  sixty,  or  it  might  be 
more.  He  was  an  old  bachelor,  and  wide  guesses 
are  sometimes  made  as  to  the  ages  of  that  class  of 
men.  They  may  not  live  longer  than  married 
men,  but  they  do  not  show  the  effects  of  life's  wear 
and  tear  so  early.  He  came  to  see  us  one  evening. 
He  fell  in  love  with  the  mistress  of  the  parsonage, 
just  as  he  ought  to  have  clone,  and  we  were 
charmed  with  the  quaint  old  bachelor.  There 
was  a  piquancy,  a  sharp  flavor,  in  his  talk  that  was 
delightful.  His  aphorisms  often  crystallized  a  neg- 
lected truth  in  a  form  all  his  own.  He  was  an 
8  (113) 


114  CALIFORNIA 

original  character.  There  was  nothing  common- 
place about  him.  He  had  his  own  way  of  saying 
and  doing  every  thing. 

Society  in  the  mines  was  limited  in  that  clay, 
and  we  felt  that  we  had  found  a  real  tjiesaurus  in 
this  old  man  of  unique  mold.  His  visits  were  re- 
freshing to  us,  and  his  plain-spoken  criticisms  were 
helpful  to  me. 

He  had  left  the  Church  because  he  did  not 
agree  with  the  preachers  on  some  points  of  Chris- 
tian ethics,  and  because  they  used  tobacco.  But 
he  was  unhappy  on  the  outside,  and  finding  that  my 
views  and  habits  did  not  happen  to  cross  his  pecul- 
iar notions,  he  came  back.  His  religious  experience 
was  out  of  the  common  order.  Bred  a  Calvin ist, 
of  the  good  old  Scotch-Presbyterian  type,  he  had 
swung  away  from  that  faith,  and  was  in  danger  of 
rushing  into  Universalism,  or  infidelity.  That 
once  famous  and  much-read  little  book,  "John 
Nelson's  Journal,*'  fell  into  his  hands,  and  changed 
his  whole  life.  It  led  him  to  Christ,  and  to  the 
Methodists.  He  was  a  true  spiritual  child  of  the 
unflinching  Yorkshire  stone-cutter.  Like  him  he 
despised  half-way  measures,  and  like  him  he  was 
aggressive  in  thought  and  action.  What  he  liked 
he  loved,  what  he  disliked  he  hated.  Calvinism 
he  abhorred,  and  he  let  no  occasion  pass  for  pouring 
into  it  the  hot  shot  of  his  scorn  and  wrath.  One 


OLD  MAN  LOWRY.  lib 

night  I  preached  from  the  text,  Should  it  be  accord- 
ing to  thy  mind? 

"The  first  part  of  your  sermon,"  he  said  to  me 
as  we  passed  out  of  the  church,  "  distressed  me 
greatly.  For  a  full  half  hour  you  preached  straight- 
out  Calvinism,  and  I  thought  you  had  ruined 
every  thing ;  but  you  had  left  a  little  slip-gap,  and 
crawled  out  at  the  last." 

His  ideal  of  a  minister  of  the  gospel  was  Dr. 
Keener,  whom  he  knew  at  New  Orleans  before 
coming  to  California.  He  was  the  first  man  I 
ever  heard  mention  Dr.  Keener's  name  for  the 
episcopacy.  There  was  much  in  common  between 
them.  If  my  eccentric  California  bachelor  friend 
did  not  have  as  strong  and  cool  a  head,  he  had  as 
brave  and  true  a  heart  as  the  incisive  and  chival- 
rous Louisiana  preacher,  upon  whose  head  the 
miter  was  placed  by  the  suffrage  of  his  brethren 
at  Memphis  in  1870. 

He  became  very  active  as  a  worker  in  the 
Church.  I  made  him  class-leader,  and  there  have 
been  few  in  that  office  who  brought  to  its  sacred 
duties  as  much  spiritual  insight,  candor,  and  ten- 
derness. At  times  his  words  flashed  like  diamonds, 
showing  what  the  Bible  can  reveal  to  a  solitary 
thinker  who  makes  it  his  chief  study  day  and 
night.  When  needful,  he  could  apply  caustic  that 
burned  to  the  very  core  of  an  error  of  opinion  or  of 


116  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

practice.  He  took  a  class  in  the  Sunday-school, 
and  his  freshness,  acuteness,  humor,  and  deep 
knowledge  of  the  Scriptures,  made  him  far  more 
than  an  ordinary  teacher.  A  fine  pocket  Bible 
was  offered  as  a  prize  to  the  scholar  who  should, 
in  three  months,  memorize  the  greatest  number  of 
Scripture  verses.  The  wisdom  of  such  a  contest 
is  questionable  to  me  now,  but  it  was  the  fashion 
then,  and  I  was  too  young  and  self-distrustful  to  set 
myself  against  the  current  in  such  matters.  The 
contest  was  an  exciting  one  —  two  boys,  Robert 
A —  -  and  Jonathan  R ,  and  one  girl,  An- 
nie P ,  leading  all  the  school.  Jonathan 

suddenly  fell  behind,  and  was  soon  distanced  by 
his  two  competitors.  Lowry,  v/ho  was  his  teacher, 
asked  him  what  was  the  reason  of  his  sudden 
breakdown.  The  boy  blushed,  and  stammered  out : 

"  I  did  n't  want  to  beat  Annie." 

Robert  won  the  prize,  and  the  day  came  for  its 
presentation.  The  house  was  full,  and  everybody 
was  in  a  pleasant  mood.  After  the  prize  had  been 
presented  in  due  form  and  with  a  little  flourish, 
Lowry  arose,  and  producing  a  costly  Bible,  in  a 
few  words  telling  how  magnanimously  and  gallantly 
Jonathan  had  retired  from  the  contest,  presented 
it  to  the  pleased  and  blushing  boy.  The  boys  and 
girls  applauded  California  fashion,  and  the  old 
man's  face  glowed  with  satisfaction.  He  had  in 


OLD  MAN  LOWRY.  Ill 

him  curiously  mingled  the  elements  of  the  Puritan 
and  the  Cavalier — the  uncompromising  persistency 
of  the  one,  and  the  chivalrous  impulse  and  open- 
handedness  of  the  other, 

The  old  man  had  too  many  crotchets  and  too 
much  combativeness  to  be  popular.  He  spared  no 
opinion  or  habit  he  did  not  like.  He  struck  every 
angle  within  reach  of  him.  In  the  state  of  so- 
ciety then  existing  in  the  mines  there  were  many 
things  to  vex  his  soul,  and  keep  him  on  the  war- 
path. The  miners  looked  upon  him  as  a  brave, 
good  man,  just  a  little  daft.  He  worked  a  mining- 
claim  on  Wood's  Creek,  north  of  town,  and  lived 
alone  in  a  tiny  cabin  on  the  hill  above.  That  was 
the  smallest  of  cabins,  looking  like  a  mere  box 
from  the  trail  which  wound  through  the  flat  be- 
low. Two  little  scrub-oaks  stood  near  it,  under 
which  he  sat  and  read  his  Bible  in  leisure  mo- 
ments. There,  above  the  world,  he  could  com- 
mune with  his  own  heart  and  with  God  undis- 
turbed, and  look  down  upon  a  race  he  half  pitied 
and  half  despised.  From  the  spot  the  eye  took  in 
a  vast  sweep  of  hill  and  dale :  Bald  Mountain, 
the  most  striking  object  in  the  near  background, 
and  beyond  its  dark,  rugged  mass  the  snowy  sum- 
mits of  the  Sierras,  rising  one  above  another,  like 
gigantic  stair-steps,  leading  up  to  the  throne  of  the 
Eternal.  This  lonely  height  suited  Lowry's  strange- 


118  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES* 

ly  compounded  nature.  As  a  cynic,  he  looked  down 
with  contempt  upon  the  petty  life  that  seethed  and 
frothed  in  the  camps  below ;  as  a  saint,  he  looked 
forth  upon  the  wonders  of  God's  handiwork 
around  and  above  him. 

There  was  an  intensity  in  all  that  he  did.  Pass- 
ing his  mining -claim  on  horseback  one  day,  I 
paused  to  look  at  him  in  his  work.  Clad  in  a  blue 
flannel  mining -suit,  he  was  digging  as  for  life. 
The  embankment  of  red  dirt  and  gravel  melted 
away  rapidly  before  his  vigorous  strokes,  and  he 
seemed  to  feel  a  sort  of  fierce  delight  in  his  work. 
Pausing  a  moment,  he  looked  up  and  saw  me. 

"  You  dig  as  if  you  were  in  a  hurry,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  digging  here  three  years.  I 
have  a  notion  that  I  have  just  so  much  of  the 
earth  to  turn  over  before  I  am  turned  under,"  he 
replied  with  a  sort  of  grim  humor. 

He  was  still  there  when  we  visited  Sonora  in 
1857.  He  invited  us  out  to  dinner,  and  we  went. 
By  skillful  circling  around  the  hill,  we  reached  the 
little  cabin  on  the  summit  with  horse  and  buggy. 
The  old  man  had  made  preparations  for  his  ex- 
pected guests.  The  floor  of  the  cabin  had  been 
swept,  and  its  scanty  store  of  furniture  put  to 
rights,  and  a  dinner  was  cooking  in  and  on  the 
little  stove.  His  lady-guest  insisted  on  helping  in 
the  preparation  of  the  dinner,  but  was  allowed  to 


OLD  MAN  LOWRY*  119 

do  nothing  further  than  to  arrange  the  dishes  on 
the  primitive  table,  which  was  set  out  under  one  of 
the  little  oaks  in  the  yard.  It  was  a  miner's  feast — 
can-fruits,  can-vegetables,  can-oysters,  can-pickles, 
can-every  thing  nearly,  with  tea  distilled  from 
the  Asiatic  leaf  by  a  receipt  of  his  own.  It  was 
a  hot  day,  and  from  the  cloudless  heavens  the  sun 
flooded  the  earth  with  his  glory,  and  the  shimmer 
of  the  sunshine  was  in  the  still  air.  We  tried  to  be 
cheerful,  but  there  was  a  pathos  about  the  affair 
that  touched  us.  He  felt  it  too.  More  than  once 
there  was  a  tear  in  his  eye.  At  parting,  he  kissed 
little  Paul,  and  gave  us  his  hand  in  silence.  As 
we  drove  down  the  hill,  he  stood  gazing  after  us 
with  a  look  fixed  and  sad.  The  picture  is  still  be- 
fore me — the  lonely  old  man  standing  sad  and  si- 
lent, the  little  cabin,  the  rude  dinner-service  under 
the  oak,  and  the  overarching  sky.  That  was  our 
last  meeting.  The  next  will  be  on  the  Other  Side. 


SUICIDE  IN  CALIFOENIA. 


A  HALF  protest  rises  within  me  as  I  be- 
gin this  Sketch.  The  page  almost  turns 
crimson  under  my  gaze,  and  shadowy  forms  come 
forth  out  of  the  darkness  into  which  they  wildly 
plunged  out  of  life's  misery  into  death's  mystery. 
Ghostly  lips  cry  out,  "Leave  us  alone!  Why  call 
us  back  to  a  world  where  we  lost  all,  and  in  quit- 
ting which  we  risked  all?  Disturb  us  not  to  gratify 
the  cold  curiosity  of  unfeeling  strangers.  We  have 
passed  on  beyond  human  jurisdiction  to  the  realities 
we  dared  to  meet.  Give  us  the  pity  and  courtesy 
of  your  silence,  O  living  brother,  who  didst  escape 
the  wreck ! "  The  appeal  is  not  without  effect,  and 
if  I  lift  the  shroud  that  covers  the  faces  of  these 
dead  self-destroyed,  it  will  be  tenderly,  pityingly. 
These  simple  Sketches  of  real  California-life  would 
be  imperfect  if  this  characteristic  feature  were  en- 
tirely omitted  ;  for  California  was  (and  is  yet)  the 
land  of  suicides.  In  a  single  year  there  were  one  hun- 
(120) 


SUICIDE  IN  CALIFORNIA.  121 

dred  aud  six  in  San  Francisco  alone.  The  whole 
number  of  suicides  in  the  State  would,  if  the  horror 
of  each  case  could  be  even  imperfectly  imagined, 
appal  even  the  dryest  statistician  of  crime.  The 
causes  for  this  prevalence  of  self-destruction  are 
to  be  sought  in  the  peculiar  conditions  of  the 
country,  and  the  habits  of  the  people.  California, 
with  all  its  beauty,  grandeur,  and  riches,  has  been 
to  the  many  who  have  gone  thither  a  land  of  great 
expectations,  but  small  results.  This  was  specially 
the  case  in  the  earlier  period  of  its  history,  after 
the  discovery  of  gold  and  its  settlement  by  "Amer- 
icans," as  we  call  ourselves,  par  excellence.  Hurled 
from  the  topmost  height  of  extravagant  hope  to 
the  lowest  deep  of  disappointment,  the  shock  is 
too  great  for  reaction;  the  rope,  razor,  bullet,  or 
deadly  drug,  finishes  the  tragedy.  Materialistic 
infidelity  in  California  is  the  avowed  belief  of 
multitudes,  and  its  subtle  poison  infects  the  minds 
and  unconsciously  the  actions  of  thousands  who 
recoil  from  the  dark  abyss  that  yawns  at  the  feet 
of  its  adherents  with  its  fascination  of  horror. 
Under  some  circumstances,  suicide  becomes  logical 
to  a  man  who  has  neither  hope  nor  dread  of  a 
hereafter.  Sins  against  the  body,  and  especially 
the  nervous  system,  were  prevalent;  and  days  of 
pain,  sleepless  nights,  and  weakened  wills,  were  the 
precursors  of  the  tragedy  that  promised  change, 


122  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

if  not  rest.  The  devil  gets  men  inside  a  fiery  cir- 
cle, made  by  their  own  sin  and  folly,  from  which 
there  seems  to  be  no  escape  but  by  death,  and  they 
will  unbar  its  awful  door  with  their  own  trembling 
hands.  There  is  another  door  of  escape  for  the 
worst  and  most  wretched,  and  it  is  opened  to  the 
penitent  by  the  hand  that  was  nailed  to  the  rugged 
cross.  These  crises  do  come,  when  the  next  step 
must  be  death  or  life — penitence  or  perdition.  Do 
sane  men  and  women  ever  commit  suicide?  Yes 
— and,  No.  Yes,  in  the  sense  that  they  sometimes 
do  it  with  even  pulse  and  steady  nerves.  No,  in 
the  sense  that  there  cannot  be  perfect  soundness  in 
the  brain  and  heart  of  one  who  violates  a  primal 
instinct  of  human  nature.  Each  case  has  its  own 
peculiar  features,  and  must  be  left  to  the  all-seeing 
and  all-pitying  Father.  Suicide,  where  it  is  not 
the  greatest  of  crimes,  is  the  greatest  of  misfort- 
unes. The  righteous  Judge  will  classify  its  vic- 
tims. 

A  noted  case  in  San  Francisco  was  that  of  a 
French  Catholic  priest.  He  was  young,  brilliant, 
and  popular — beloved  by  his  flock,  and  admired 
by  a  large  circle  outside.  He  had  taken  the  sol- 
emn vows  of  his.  order  in  all  sincerity  of  purpose, 
and  was  distinguished  as  well  for  his  zeal  in  his 
pastoral  work*  as  for  his  genius.  But  temptation 
met  him,  and  he  fell.  It  came  in  the  shape  in 


SUICIDE  L\r  CAUFotwtA*  123 

which  it  assailed  the  young  Hebrew  in  Potiplmr's 
house,  and  in  which  it  overcame  the  poet-king  of 
Israel.  He  was  seized  with  horror  and  remorse, 
though  he  had  no  accuser  save  that  voice  within, 
which  cannot  be  hushed  while  the  soul  lives.  He 
ceased  to  perform  the  sacred  functions  of  his  office, 
making  some  plausible  pretext  to  his  superiors, 
not  daring  to  add  sacrilege  to  mortal  sin.  Shut- 
ting himself  in  his  chamber,  he  brooded  over  his 
crime;  or,  no  longer  able  to  endure  the  agony  he 
felt,  he  would  rush  forth,  and  walk  for  hours  over 
the  sand-dunes,  or  along  the  sea-beach.  But  no 
answer  of  peace  followed  his  prayers,  and  the 
voices  of  nature  soothed  him  not.  He  thought 
his  sin  unpardonable — at  least,  he  would  not  par- 
don himself.  He  was  found  one  morning  lying 
dead  in  his  bed  in  a  pool  of  blood.  He  had  sev- 
ered the  jugular-vein  with  a  razor,  which  was  still 
clutched  in  his  stiffened  fingers.  His  handsome 
and  classic  face  bore  no  trace  of  pain.  A  sealed 
letter,  lying  on  the  table,  contained  his  confession 
and  his  farewell. 

Among  the  lawyers  in  one  of  the  largest  mining 
towns  of  California  was  H.  B .  He  was  a  na- 
tive of  Virginia,  and  an  alumnus  of  its  noble  Univer- 
sity. He  was  a  scholar,  a  fine  lawyer,  handsome 
and  manly  in  person  and  bearing,  and  had  the  gift 
of  popularity.  Though  the  youngest  lawyer  in  the 


124  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

town,  he  took  a  front  place  at  the  bar  at  once. 
Over  the  heads  of  several  older  aspirants,  he  was 
elected  county  judge.  There  was  no  ebb  in  the 
tide  of  his  general  popularity,  and  he  had  quali- 
ties that  won  the  warmest  regard  of  his  inner  cir- 
cle of  special  friends.  But  in  this  case,  as  in 
many  others,  success  had  its  danger.  Hard  drink- 
ing was  the  rule  in  those  days.  Horace  B 

had  been  one  of  the  rare  exceptions.  There  was 
a  reason  for  this  extra  prudence.  He  had  that  pe- 
culiar susceptibility  to  alcoholic  excitement  which 
has  been  the  ruin  of  so  many  gifted  and  noble 
men.  He  knew  his  weakness,  and  it  is  strange 
that  he  did  not  continue  to  guard  against  the  dan- 
ger that  he  so  well  understood.  Strange?  ISTo ;  this 
infatuation  is  so  common  in  every-day  life  that  we 
cannot  call  it  strange.  There  is  some  sort  of  fatal 
fascination  that  draws  men  with  their  eyes  wide 
open  into  the  very  jaws  of  this  hell  of  strong 
drink.  The  most  brilliant  physician  in  San  Fran- 
cisco, in  the  prime  of  his  magnificent  young 
manhood,  died  of  delirium  tremens,  the  victim  of  a 
.^elf-inflicted  disease,  whose  horrors  no  one  knew  or 
could  picture  so  well  as  himself.  Who  says  man 
is  not  a  fallen,  broken  creature,  and  that  there  is 
not  a  devil  at  hand  to  tempt  him  ?  This  devil, 
under  the  guise  of  sociability,  false  pride,  or  moral 
cowardice,  tempted  Horace  B ,  and  he  yielded. 


SUICIDE  IN  CALIFORNIA.  125 

Like  tinder  touched  by  flame,  he  blazed  into 
drunkenness,  and  again  and  again  the  proud-spir- 
ited, manly,  and  cultured  young  lawyer  and  jurist 
was  seen  staggering  along  the  streets,  maudlin  or 
mad  with  alcohol.  When  he  had  slept  off  his 
madness,  his  humiliation  was  intense,  and  he 
walked  the  streets  with  pallid  face  and  downcast 
eyes.  The  coarser-grained  men  with  whom  he  was 
thrown  in  contact  had  no  conception  of  the  mental 
tortures  he  suffered,  and  their  rude  jests  stung  him 
to  the  quick.  He  despised  himself  as  a  weakling 
and  a  coward,  but  he  did  hot  get  more  than  a 
transient  victory  over  his  enemy.  The  spark  had 
struck  a  sensitive  organization,  and  the  fire  of  hell, 
smothered  for  the  time,  would  blaze  out  again. 
He  was  fast  becoming  a  common  drunkard,  the 
accursed  appetite  growing  stronger,  and  his  will 
weakening  in  accordance  with  that  terrible  law  by 
which  man's  physical  and  moral  nature  visits  ret- 
ribution on  all  who  cross  its  path.  During  a  term 
of  the  court  over  which  he  presided,  he  was  taken 
home  one  night  drunk.  A  pistol-shot  was  heard 
by  persons  in  the  vicinity  some  time  before  day- 
break ;  but  pistol-shots,  at  all  hours  of  the  night, 
were  then  too  common  to  excite  special  attention. 
Horace  B —  —  was  found  next  morning  lying  on 
the  floor  with  a  bullet  through  his  head.  Many  a 
gtout,  heavy-bearded  man  had  wet  eyes  when  the 


126  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES, 

body  of  the  ill-fated  and  brilliant  young  Virginian 
was  let  down  into  the  grave,  which  had  been  dug 
for  him  on  the  hill  overlooking  the  town  from  the 
south-east. 

In  the  same  town  there  was  a  portrait-painter,  a 
quiet,  pleasant  fellow,  with  a  good  face  and  easy, 
gentlemanly  ways.  As  an  artist,  he  was  not  without 
merit,  but  his  gift  fell  short  of  genius.  He  fell  in 
love  with  a  charming  girl,  the  eldest  daughter  of  a 
leading  citizen.  She  could  not  return  his  passion. 
The  enamored  artist  still  loved,  and  hoped  against 
hope,  lingering  near  her  like  a  moth  around  a 
candle.  There  was  another  and  more  favored 
suitor  in  the  case,  and  the  rejected  lover  had  all 
his  hopes  killed  at  one  blow  by  her  marriage  to 
his  rival.  He  felt  that  without  her  life  was  not 
worth  living.  He  resolved  to  kill  himself,  and 
swallowed  the  contents  of  a  two-ounce  bottle  of 
laudanum.  After  he  had  done  the  rash  deed,  a 
reaction  took  place.  He  told  what  he  had  done, 
and  a  physician  was  sent  for.  Before  the  doctor's 
arrival,  the  deadly  drug  asserted  its  power,  and  this 
repentant  suicide  began  to  show  signs  of  going  into 
a  sleep  from  which  it  was  certain  he  would  never 
awake. 

"My  God!  What  have  I  done?"  he  exclaimed 
in  horror.  "  Do  your  best,  boys,  to  keep  me  from 
going  to  sleep  before  the  doctor  gets  here." 


SUICIDE  IN  CALIFORNIA.  127 

The  doctor  came  quickly,  and  by  the  prompt 
and  very  vigorous  use  of  the  stomach-pump  he  was 
saved.  I  was  sent  for,  and  found  the  would-be 
suicide  looking  very  weak,  sick,  silly,  and  sheepish. 
He  got  well,  and  went  on  making  pictures  ;  but  the 
picture  of  the  fair,  sweet  girl,  for  love  of  whom  he 
came  so  near  dying,  never  faded  from  his  mind. 
His  face  always  wore  a  sad  look,  and  he  lived  the 
life  of  a  recluse,  but  he  never  attempted  suicide 
again — he  had  had  enough  of  that. 

<(It  always  makes  me  shudder  to  look  at  that 
place,"  said  a  lady,  as  wre  passed  an  elegant  cottage 
on  the  western  side  of  Russian  Hill,  San  Fran- 
cisco. 

''Why  so?  The  place  to  me  looks  specially 
cheerful  and  attractive,  with  its  graceful  slope, 
its  shrubbery,  flowers,  and  thick  greensward." 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  lovely  place,  but  it  has  a  history 
that  it  shocks  me  to  think  of.  Do  you  see  that  tall 
pumping-apparatus,  with  water-tank  on  top,  in  the 
rear  of  the  house?" 

"Yes;  what  of  it?" 

"A  woman  hanged  herself  there  a  year  ago. 
The  family  consisted  of  the  husband  and  wife,  and 
two  bright,  beautiful  children,  He  was  thrifty  and 
prosperous,  she  was  an  excellent  housekeeper,  and 
the  children  were  healthy  and  well-behaved.  In 
appearance  a  happier  family  could  not  be  found 


128  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

on  the  hill.  One  day  Mr.  P —  -  came  home  at 
the  usual  hour,  and,  missing  the  wife's  customary 
greeting,  he  asked  the  children  where  she  was. 
The  children  had  not  seen  their  mother  for  two  or 
three  hours,  and  looked  startled  when  they  found 
she  was  missing.  Messengers  were  sent  to  the 
nearest  neighbors  to  make  inquiries,  but  no  one 

had  seen  her.  Mr.  P Js  face  began  to  wear  a 

troubled  look  as  he  walked  the  floor,  from  time  to 
time  going  to  the  door  and  casting  anxious  glances 
about  the  premises. 

About  dusk  a  sudden  shriek  was  heard,  issuing 
from  the  water-tank  in  the  yard,  and  the  Irish 
servant-girl  came  rushing  from  it,  with  eyes  dis- 
tended and  face  pale  with  terror. 

"Holy  Mother  of  God!  It's  the  Missus  that's 
hanged  herself! " 

The  alarm  spread,  and  soon  a  crowd,  curious 
and  sympathetic,  had  collected.  They  found  the 
poor  lady  suspended  by  the  neck  from  a  beam  at 
the  head  of  the  staircase  leading  to  the  top  of  the 
inclosure.  She  was  quite  dead,  and  a  horrible 
sight  to  see.  At  the  inquest  no  facts  were  devel- 
oped throwing  any  light  on  the  tragedy.  There 
had  been  no  cloud  in  the  sky  portending  the  light- 
ning-stroke that  laid  the  happy  little  home  in 
ruins.  The  husband  testified  that  she  was  as 
bright  and  happy  the  morning  of  the  suicide  as  he 


SUICIDE  IN  CALIFORNIA.  129 

had  ever  seen  her,  and  had  parted  with  him  at  the 
door  with  the  usual  kiss.  Every  thing  about  the 
house  that  day  bore  the  marks  of  her  deft  and 
skillful  touch.  The  two  children  were  dressed 
with  accustomed  neatness  and  good  taste.  And 
yet  the  bolt  was  in  the  cloud,  and  it  fell  before  the 
sun  had  set!  What  was  the  mystery?  Ever 
afterward  I  felt  something  of  the  feeling  expressed 
by  my  lady  friend  when,  in  passing,  I  looked  upon 
the  structure  which  had  been  the  scene  of  this 
singular  tragedy. 

One  of  the  most  energetic  business  men  living 
in  one  of  the  foot-hill  towns,  on  the  northern  edge 
of  the  Sacramento  Valley,  had  a  charming  wife, 
whom  he  loved  with  a  deep  and  tender  devotion. 
As  in  all  true  love-matches,  the  passion  of  youth 
had  ripened  into  a  yet  stronger  and  purer  love 
with  the  lapse  of  years  and  participation  in  the 
joys  and  sorrows  of  wedded  life.  Their  union 
had  been  blessed  with  five  children,  all  intelligent, 
sweet,  and  full  of  promise.  It  was  a  very  affec- 
tionate and  happy  household.  Both  parents  pos- 
sessed considerable  literary  taste  and  culture,  and 
the  best  books  and  current  magazine  literature 
were  read,  discussed,  and  enjoyed  in  that  quiet 
and  elegant  home  amid  the  roses  and  evergreens. 
It  was  a  little  paradise  in  the  hills,  where  Love, 
the  home-angel,  brightened  every  room  and  blessed 
9 


130  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

every  heart.  But  trouble  carme  in  the  shape  of 
business  reverses,  and  the  worried  look  and  wake- 
ful nights  of  the  husband  told  how  heavy  were  the 
blows  that  had  fallen  upon  this  hard  and  willing 
worker.  The  course  of  ruin  in  California  was 
fearfully  rapid  in  those  days.  When  a  man's 
financial  supports  began  to  give  way,  they  went 
with  a  crash.  The  movement  downward  was  with 
a  rush  that  gave  no  time  for  putting  on  the  brakes. 
You  were  at  the  bottom,  a  wreck,  almost  before 
you  knew  it.  So  it  was  in  this  case.  Every  thing 
was  swept  away,  a  mountain  of  unpaid  debts  was 
piled  up,  credit  was  gone,  clamor  of  creditors  deaf- 
ened him,  and  the  gaunt  wolf  of  actual  want 
looked  in  through  the  door  of  the  cottage  upon 
the  dear  wife  and  little  ones.  Another  %hadow, 
and  a  yet  darker  one,  settled  upon  them.  The 
unhappy  man  had  been  tampering  with  the  delu- 
sion of  spiritualism,  and  his  wife  had  been  drawn 
with  him  into  a  partial  belief  in  its  vagaries.  In 
their  troubles  they  sought  the  aid  of  the  "familiar 
spirits"  that  peeped  and  muttered  through  speak- 
ing, writing,  and  rapping  mediums.  This  kept 
them  in  a  state  of  morbid  excitement  that  increased 
from  day  to  day  until  they  were  wrought  up  to  a 
tension  that  verged  on  insanity.  The  lying  spirits, 
or  the  frenzy  of  his  own  heated  brain,  turned  his 
thought  to  death  as  the  only  escape  from  want. 


SUICIDE  IN  CALIFORNIA.  131 

"  I  see  our  way  out  of  these  troubles,  wife,"  lie 
said  one  night,  as  they  sat  hand  in  hand  in  the  bed- 
chamber, where  the  children  were  lying  asleep. 
"We  will  all  die  together!  This  has  been  re- 
vealed to  me  as  the  solution  of  all  our  difficulties. 
Yes,  we  will  enter  the  beautiful  spirit -world  to- 
gether !  This  is  freedom !  It  is  only  getting  out  of 
prison.  Bright  spirits  beckon  and  call  us.  I  am 
ready." 

There  was  a  gleam  of  madness  in  his  eyes,  and, 
as  he  took  a  pistol  from  a  bureau-drawer,  an  an- 
swering gleam  flashed  forth  from  the  eyes  of  the 
wife,  as  she  said : 

"  Yes,  love,  we  will  all  go  together.  I  too  am 
ready." 

The  sleeping  children  were  breathing  sweetly, 
unmindful  of  the  horror  that  the  devil  was  hatch- 
ing. 

"The  children  first,  then  you,  and  then  me," 
he  said,  his  eye  kindling  with  increasing  excite- 
ment. 

He  penciled  a  short  note  addressed  to  one  of  his 
old  friends,  asking  him  to  attend  to  the  burial  of 
the  bodies,  then  they  kissed  each  of  the  sleeping 
children,  and  then — but  let  the  curtain  fall  on  the 
scene  that  followed.  The  seven  were  found  next 
day  lying  dead,  a  bullet  through  the  brain  of  each, 
the  murderer,  by  the  side  of  the  wife,  still  holding 


132 


CALIFORNIA  -SKETCHES. 


the  weapon  of  death  in  his  hand,  its  muzzle  against 
his  right  temple. 

Other  pictures  of  real  life  and  death  crowd  up- 
on my  mind,  among  them  noble  forms  and  faces 
that  were  near  and  dear  to  me ;  but  again  I  hear 
the  appealing  voices.  The  page  before  me  is  wet 
with  tears — I  cannot  see  to  write. 


FATHER  FISHEE. 


HE  came  to  California  in  1855.  The  Pacific 
Conference  was  in  session  at  Sacramento. 
It  was  announced  that  the  new  preacher  from 
Texas  would  preach  at  night.  The  boat  was  de- 
tained in  some  way,  and  he  just  had  time  to  reach 
the  church,  where  a  large  and  expectant  congrega- 
tion were  in  waiting.  Below  medium  height,  plain- 
ly dressed,  and  with  a  sort  of  peculiar  shuffling 
movement  as  he  went  down  the  aisle,  he  attracted 
no  special  notice  except  for  the  profoundly  rever- 
ential manner  that  never  left  him  anywhere.  But 
the  moment  he  faced  his  audience  and  spoke,  it 
was  evident  to  them  that  a  man  of  mark  stood  be- 
fore them.  They  were  magnetized  at  once,  and 
every  eye  was  fixed  upon  the  strong  yet  benignant 
face,  the  capacious  blue  eyes,  the  ample  forehead, 
and  massive  head,  bald  on  top,  with  silver  locks 
on  either  side.  His  tones  in  reading  the  Scripture 
and  the  hymns  were  unspeakably  solemn  and  very 

(133) 


134  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

musical.  The  blazing  fervor  of  the  prayer  that 
followed  was  absolutely  startling  to  some  of  the 
preachers,  who  had  cooled  down  under  the  depress- 
ing influence  of  the  moral  atmosphere  of  the  coun- 
try. It  almost  seemed  as  if  we  could  hear  the 
rush  of  the  pentecostal  wind,  and  see  the  tongues 
of  flame.  The  very  house  seemed  to  be  rocking 
on  its  foundations.  By  the  time  the  prayer  had 
ended,  all  were  in  a  glow,  and  ready  for  the  ser- 
mon. The  text  I  do  not  now  call  to  mind,  but  the 
impression  made  by  the  sermon  remains.  I  had 
seen  and  heard  preachers  who  glowed  in  the  pul- 
pit— this  man  burned.  His  words  poured  forth  in 
a  molten  flood,  his  face  shone  like  a  furnace  heat- 
ed from  within,  his  large  blue  eyes  flashed  with 
the  lightning  of  impassioned  sentiment,  and  anon 
swam  in  pathetic  appeal  that  no  heart  could  resist. 
Body,  brain,  and  spirit,  all  seemed  to  feel  the 
mighty  afflatus.  His  very  frame  seemed  to  ex- 
pand, and  the  little  man  who  had  gone  into  the 
pulpit  with  shuffling  step  and  downcast  eyes  was 
transfigured  before  us.  When,  with  radiant  face, 
upturned  eyes,  an  upward  sweep  of  his  arm,  and 
trumpet-voice,  he  shouted, "  Halleluiah  to  God ! "  the 
tide  of  emotion  broke  over  all  barriers,  the  people 
rose  to  their  feet,  and  the  church  reechoed  with 
their  responsive  halleluiahs.  The  new  preacher 
from  Texas  that  night  gave  some  Californians  a 


FATHER  FISHES.  135 

new  idea  of  evangelical  eloquence,  and  took  his 
place  as  a  burning  and  a  shining  light  among  the 
ministers  of  God  on  the  Pacific  Coast. 

"  He  is  the  man  we  want  for  San  Francisco ! " 
exclaimed  the  impulsive  B.  T.  Crouch,  who  had 
kindled  into  a  generous  enthusiasm  under  that 
marvelous  discourse. 

He  was  sent  to  San  Francisco.  He  was  one  of 
a  company  of  preachers  who  have  successively  had 
charge  of  the  Southern  Methodist  Church  in  that 
wondrous  city  inside  the  Golden  Gate — Boring, 
Evans,  Fisher,  Fitzgerald,  Gober,  Brown,  Bailey, 
Wood,  Miller,  Ball,  Hoss,  Chamberlin,  Mahon, 
Tuggle,  Simmons,  Henderson.  There  was  an  al- 
most unlimited  diversity  of  temperament,  culture, 
and  gifts  among  these  men ;  but  they  all  had  a  sim- 
ilar experience  in  this,  that  San  Francisco  gave 
them  new  revelations  of  human  nature  and  of 
themselves.  Some  went  away  crippled  and  scarred, 
•some  sad,  some  broken ;  but  perhaps  in  the  Great 
Day  it  may  be  found  that  for  each  and  all  there 
was  a  hidden  blessing  in  the  heart-throes  of  a  serv- 
ice that  seemed  to  demand  that  they  should  sow 
in  bitter  tears,  and  know  no  joyful  reaping  this 
side  of  the  grave.  O  my  brothers,  who  have  felt 
the  fires  of  that  furnace  heated  seven  times  hotter 
than  usual,  shall  we  not  in  the  resting-place  beyond 
the  river  realize  that  these  fires  burned  out  of  us 


136  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

the  dross  that  we  did  not  know  wras  in  our  souls  ? 
The  bird  that  comes  out  of  the  tempest  with  bro- 
ken wing  may  henceforth  take  a  lowlier  flight,  but 
will  be  safer  because  it  ventures  no  more  into  the 
region  of  storms. 

Fisher  did  not  succeed  in  San  Francisco,  be- 
cause he  could  not  get  a  hearing.  A  little  hand- 
ful would  meet  him  on  Sunday  mornings  in  one  of 
the  upper-rooms  of  the  old  City  Hall,  and  listen 
to  sermons  that  sent  them  away  in  a  religious  glow, 
but  he  had  no  leverage  for  getting  at  the  masses. 
He  was  no  adept  in  the  methods  by  which  the 
modern  sensational  preacher  compels  the  attention 
of  the  novelty -loving  crowrds  in  our  cities.  An 
evangelist  in  every  fiber  of  his  being,  he  chafed 
under  the  limitations  of  his  charge  in  San  Fran- 
cisco, and  from  time  to  time  he  would  make  a  dash 
into  the  country,  where,  at  camp-meetings  and  on 
other  special  occasions,  he  preached  the  gospel  with 
a  power  that  broke  many  a  sinner's  heart,  and  with 
a  persuasiveness  that  brought  many  a  wanderer 
back  to  the  Good  Shepherd's  fold.  His  bodily  en- 
ergy, like  his  religious  zeal,  was  unflagging.  It 
seemed  little  less  than  a  miracle  that  he  could,  day 
after  day,  make  such  vast  expenditure  of  nervous 
energy  without  exhaustion.  He  put  all  his  strength 
into  every  sermon  and  exhortation,  whether  ad- 
dressed to  admiring  and  weeping  thousands  at  a 


FATHER  FISUEB.  137 

great  camp-meeting,  or  to  a  dozen  or  less  "stand- 
bys"  at  the  Saturday-morning  service  of  a  quar- 
terly-meeting. 

He  had  his  trials  and  crosses.  Those/  who  knew 
him  intimately  learned  to  expect  his  mightiest  pul- 
pit efforts  when  the  shadow  on  his  face  and  the 
unconscious  sigh  showed  that  he  was  passing 
through  the  waters  and  crying  to  God  out  of  the 
depths.  In  such  experiences,  the  strong  man  is 
revealed  and  gathers  new  strength;  the  weak  one 
goes  under.  But  his  strength  was  more  than  mere 
natural  force  of  will,  it  was  the  strength  of  a 
mighty  faith  in  God — that  unseen  force  by  which 
the  saints  work  righteousness,  subdue  kingdoms, 
escape  the  violence  of  fire,  and  stop  the  mouths  of 
lions. 

As  a  flame  of  fire,  Fisher  itinerated  all  over  Cal- 
ifornia and  Oregon,  kindling  a  blaze  of  revival  in 
almost  every  place  he  touched.  He  was  mighty  in 
the  Scriptures,  and  seemed  to  know  the  Book  by 
heart.  His  was  no  rose-water  theology.  He  be- 
lieved in  a  hell,  and  pictured  it  in  Bible  language 
with  a  vividness  and  awfulness  that  thrilled  the 
stoutest  sinner's  heart ;  he  believed  in  heaven,  and 
spoke  of  it  in  such  a  way  that  it  seemed  that  with 
him  faith  had  already  changed  to  sight.  The  gates 
of  pearl,  the  crystal  river,  the  shining  ranks  of  the 
white-robed  throngs,  their  songs  swelling  as  the 


138  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

sound  of  many  waters,  the  holy  love  and  rapture 
of  the  glorified  hosts  of  the  redeemed,  were  made 
to  pass  in  panoramic  procession  before  the  listen- 
ing multitudes,  until  the  heaven  he  pictured  seemed 
to  be  a  present  reality.  He  lived  in  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  supernatural;  the  spirit-world  was  to 
him  most  real. 

"I  have  been  out  of  the  body,"  he  said  to  me 
one  day.  The  words  were  spoken  softly,  and  his 
countenance,  always  grave  in  its  aspect,  deepened 
in  its  solemnity  of  expression  as  he  spoke. 

"How  was  that?"  I  inquired. 

"It  was  in  Texas.  I  was  returning  from  a  quar- 
terly-meeting where  I  had  preached  one  Sunday 
morning  with  great  liberty  and  with  unusual  ef- 
fect. The  horses  attached  to  my  vehicle  became 
frightened,  and  ran  away.  They  were  wholly  be- 
yond control,  plunging  down  the  road  at  a  fearful 
speed,  when,  by  a  slight  turn  to  one  side,  the  wheel 
struck  a  large  log.  There  was  a  concussion,  and 
then  a  blank.  The  next  thing  I  knew  I  was  float- 
ing in  the  air  above  the  road.  I  saw  every  thing 
as  plainly  as  I  see  your  face  at  this  moment.  There 
lay  my  body  in  the  road,  there  lay  the  log,  and 
there  were  the  trees,  the  fence,  the  fields,  and  every 
thing,  perfectly  natural.  My  motion,  which  had 
been  upward,  was  arrested,  and  as,  poised  in  the 
air,  I  looked  at  rny  body  lying  there  in  the  road 


FATHER  FISHER.  139 

so  still,  I  felt  a  strong  desire  to  go  back  to  it,  and 
found  myself  sinking  toward  it.  The  next  thing 
I  knew  I  was  lying  in  the  road  where  I  had  been 
thrown  out,  with  a  number  of  friends  about  me, 
some  holding  up  my  head,  others  chafing  my  hands, 
or  looking  on  with  pity  or  alarm.  Yes,  I  was  out 
of  the  body  for  a  little,  and  I  know  there  is  a 
spirit- world." 

His  voice  had  sunk  into  a  sort  of  whisper,  and 
the  tears  were  in  his  eyes.  I  was  strangely  thrilled. 
Both  of  us  were  silent  for  a  time,  as  if  we  heard 
the  echoes  of  voices,  and  saw  the  beckonings  of 
shadowy  hands  from  that  Other  World  which 
sometimes  seems  so  far  away,  and  yet  is  so  near  to 
each  one  of  us. 

Surely  yon  heaven,  where  angels  see  God's  face, 

Is  not  so  distant  as  we  deem 
From  this  low  earth.     ?Tis  but  a  little  space, 
'Tis  but  a  veil  the  winds  might  blow  aside; 
Yes,  this  all  that  us  of  earth  divide 
From  the  bright  dwellings  of  the  glorified, 
The  land  of  which  I  dream. 

But  it  was  no  dream  to  this  man  of  mighty  faith, 
the  windows  of  whose  soul  opened  at  all  times 
Godward.  To  him  immortality  was  a  demon- 
strated fact,  an  experience.  He  had  been  out  of 
the  body. 

Intensity  was  his  dominating  quality.     He  wrote 


140  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

verses,  and  whatever  they  may  have  lacked  of  the 
subtle  element  that  marks  poetical  genius,  they 
were  full  of  his  ardent  personality  and  devotional 
abandon.  He  compounded  medicines  whose  vir- 
tues, backed  by  his  own  unwavering  faith,  wrought 
wondrous  cures.  On  several  occasions  he  accepted 
challenge  to  polemic  battle,  and  his  opponents 
found  in  him  a  fearless  warrior,  whose  onset  was 
next  to  irresistible.  In  these  discussions  it  was 
no  uncommon  thing  for  his  arguments  to  close  with 
such  bursts  of  spiritual  power  that  the  doctrinal 
duel  would  end  in  a  great  religious  excitement, 
bearing  disputants  and  hearers  away  on  mighty 
tides  of  feeling  that  none  could  resist. 

I  saw  in  the  Texas  Christian  Advocate  an  inci- 
dent, related  by  Dr.  F.  A.  Mood,  that  gives  a  good 
idea  of  what  Fisher's  eloquence  was  when  in  full 
tide : 

"About  ten  years  ago,"  says  Dr.  M.,  "when  the 
train  from  Houston,  on  the  Central  Railroad,  on 
one  occasion  reached  Hempstead,  it  was  perempto- 
rily brought  to  a  halt.  There  was  a  strike. among 
the  employes  of  the  road,  on  what  was  significantly 
called  by  the  strikers  'The  Death-warrant/  The 
road,  it  seems,  had  required  all  of  their  employes  to 
sign  a  paper  renouncing  all  claims  to  moneyed 
reparation  in  case  of  their  bodily  injury  while  in 
the  service  of  the  road.  The  excitement  incident 


FATHER  FISHES.  141 

to  a  strike  was  at  its  height  at  Hempstead  when 
our  train  reached  there.  The  tracks  were  blocked 
Avith  trains  that  had  been  stopped  as  they  arrived 
from  the  different  branches  of  the  road,  and  the 
employes  were  gathered  about  in  groups,  discussing 
the  situation — the  passengers  peering  around  with 
hopeless  curiosity.  When  our  train  stopped,  the 
conductor  told  us  that  we  would  have  to  lie  over 
all  night,  and  many  of  the  passengers  left  to  find 
accommodations  in  the  hotels  of  the  town.  It  was 
now  night,  when  a  man  came  into  the  car  and  ex- 
claimed,'The  strikers  are  tarring  and  feathering 
a  poor  wretch  out  here,  who  has  taken  sides  witli 
the  road — come  out  and  see  it!7  Nearly  every  one 
in  the  car  hastened  out.  I  had  risen,  when  a  gen- 
tleman behind  me  gently  pulled  my  coat,  and  said 
to  me,  'Sit  down  a  moment/  He  went  on  to  say: 
'I  judge,  sir,  you  are  a  clergyman;  and  I  advise 
you  to  remain  here.  You  may  be  put  to  much  in- 
convenience by  having  to  appear  as  a  witness;  in 
a  mob  of  that  sort,  too,  there  is  no  telling  what 
may  follow/  I  thanked  him,  and  resumed  my 
seat.  He  then  asked  me  to  what  denomination  I 
belonged,  and  upon  my  telling  him  I  was  a  Meth- 
odist preacher,  he  asked  eagerly  and  promptly  if  I 
had  ever  met  a  Methodist  preacher  in  Texas  by 
the  name  of  Fisher,  describing  accurately  the  ap- 
pearance of  our  glorified  brother.  Upon  my  tell- 


142  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

ing  him  I  knew  him  well,  he  proceeded  to  give  the 
following  incident.  I  give  it  as  nearly  as  I  can  in 
his  own  words.  Said  he : 

" '  I  am  a  California!!,  have  practiced  law  for 
years  in  that  State,  and,  at  the  time  I  allude  to,  was 
district  judge.  I  was  holding  court  at [I  can- 
not now  recall  the  name  of  the  town  he  mentioned], 
and  on  Saturday  was  told  that  a  Methodist  camp- 
meeting  was  being  held  a  few  miles  from  town.  I 
determined  to  visit  it,  and  reached  the  place  of 
meeting  in  good  time  to  hear  the  great  preacher 
of  the  occasion — Father  Fisher.  The  meeting  was 
held  in  a  river  canon.  The  rocks  towered  hun- 
dreds of  feet  on  either  side,  rising  over  like  an 
arch.  Through  the  ample  space  over  which  the 
rocks  hung  the  river  flowed,  furnishing  abundance 
of  cool  water,  while  a  pleasant  breeze  fanned  a 
shaded  spot.  A  great  multitude  had  assembled— 
hundreds  of  very  hard  cases,  who  had  gathered 
there,  like  myself,  for  the  mere  novelty  of  the 
thing.  I  am  not  a  religious  man  —  never  have 
been  thrown  under  religious  influences.  I  respect 
religion,  and  respect  its  teachers,  but  have  been 
very  little  in  contact  with  religious  things.  At 
the  appointed  time,  the  preacher  rose.  He  was 
small,  with  white  hair  combed  back  from  his  fore- 
head, and  he  wore  a  venerable  beard.  I  do  not 
know  much  about  the  Bible,  and  I  cannot  quote 


FATHER  FISIIEK.  143 

from  his  text,  but  he  preached  on  the  Judgment. 
I  tell  you,  sir,  I  have  heard  eloquence  at  the  bar 
and  on  the  hustings,  but  I  never  heard  such  elo- 
quence as  that  old  preacher  gave  us  that  day.  At 
the  last,  when  he  described  the  multitudes  calling 
on  the  rocks  and  mountains  to  fall  on  them,  I  in- 
stinctively looked  up  to  the  arching  rocks  above 
me.  Will  you  believe  it,  sir? — as  I  looked  up,  to 
my  horror  I  saw  the  walls  of  the  canon  swaying 
as  if  they  wrere  coming  together!  Just  then  the 
preacher  called  on  all  that  needed  mercy  to  kneel 
down.  I  recollect  he  said  something  like  this: 
"'  Every  knee  shall  bow,  and  every  tongue  shall 
confess;'  and  you  might  as  well  do  it  now  as  then." 
The  whole  multitude  fell  on  their  knees  —  every 
one  of  them.  Although  I  had  never  done  so  be- 
fore, I  confess  to  you,  sir,  I  got  down  on  my  knees. 
I  did  not  want  to  be  buried  right  then  and  there 
by  those  rocks  that  seemed  to  be  swaying  to  de- 
stroy me.  The  old  man  prayed  for  us ;  it  was  a 
wonderful  prayer!  I  want  to  see  him  once  more ; 
where  will  I  be  likely  to  find  him?' 

"When  he  had  closed  his  narrative,  I  said  to 
him:  'Judge,  I  hope  you  have  bowed  frequently 
since  that  day.'  'Alas !  no,  sir/  he  replied ;  '  not 
much ;  but  depend  upon  it,  Father  Fisher  is  a 
wonderful  orator — he  made  me  think  that  day  that 
the  walls  of  the  canon  were  falling.' " 


144 


CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 


He  went  back  to  Texas,  the  scene  of  his  early 
labors  and  triumphs,  to  die.  His  evening  sky  was 
not  cloudless — he  suffered  much — but  his  sunset 
was  calm  and  bright ;  his  waking  in  the  Morning 
Land  was  glorious.  If  it  wras  at  that  short  period 
of  silence  spoken  of  in  the  Apocalypse,  we  may 
be  sure  it  was  broken  when  Fisher  went  in. 


JACK  WHITE. 


THE  only  thing  white  about  him  was  his  name. 
He  was  a  Piute  Indian,  and  Piutes  are  nei- 
ther white  nor  pretty.  There  is  only  one  being  in 
human  shape  uglier  than  a  Piute  "buck" — and 
that  is  a  Piute  squaw.  One.  I  saw  at  the  Sink  of 
the  Humboldt  haunts  me  yet.  Her  hideous  face, 
begrimed  with  dirt  and  smeared  with  yellow  paint, 
bleared  and  leering  eyes,  and  horrid  long,  flapping 
breasts — ugh !  it  was  a  sight  to  make  one  feel  sick. 
A  degraded  woman  is  the  saddest  spectacle  on 
earth.  Shakespeare  knew  what  he  was  doing  when 
he  made  the  witches  in  Macbeth  of  the  feminine 
gender.  But  as  you  look  at  them  you  almost  for- 
get that  these  Piute  hags  are  women — they  seem  a 
cross  between  brute  and  devil.  The  unity  of  the 
human  race  is  a  fact  which  I  accept;  but  some  of 
our  brothers  and  sisters  are  far  gone  from  original 
loveliness.  If  Eve  could  see  these  Piute  women, 
she  would  not  be  in  a  hurry  to  claim  them  as  her 
10  (145) 


146  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

daughters;  and  Adam  would  feel  like  disowning 
some  of  his  sous.  As  it  appears  to  me,  however, 
these  repulsive  savages  furnish  an  argument  in 
support  of  two  fundamental  facts  of  Christianity. 
One  fact  is,  God  did  indeed  make  of  one  blood  all 
the  nations  of  the  earth;  the  other  is  the  fact  of 
the  fall  and  depravity  of  the  human  race.  This 
unspeakable  ugliness  of  these  Indians  is  owing  to 
their  evil  living.  Dirty  as  they  are,  the  little  In- 
dian children  are  not  at  all  repulsive  in  expression. 
A  boy  of  ten  years,  who  stood  half-naked,  shiver- 
ing in  the  wind,  with  his  bow  and  arrows,  had 
well-shaped  features  and  a  pleasant  expression  of 
countenance,  with  just  a  little  of  the  look  of  ani- 
mal cunning  that  belongs  to  all  wild  tribes.  The 
ugliness  grows  on  these  Indians  fearfully  fast  when 
it  sets  in.  The  brutalities  of  the  lives  they  lead 
stamp  themselves  on  their  faces ;  and  no  other  ani- 
mal on  earth  equals  in  ugliness  the  animal  called 
man,  when  he  is  nothing  but  an  animal. 

There  was  a  mystery  about  Jack  White's  early 
life.  He  was  born  in  the  sage-brush  desert  beyond 
the  Sierras,  and,  like  all  Indian  babies,  doubtless 
had  a  hard  time  at  the  outset.  A  Christian's  pig 
or  puppy  is  as  well  cared  for  as  a  Piute  papoose. 
Jack  was  found  in  a  deserted  Indian  camp  in  the 
mountains.  He  had  been  left  to  die,  and  was 
taken  charge  of  by  the  kind  -  hearted  John  M. 


JACK  WHITE.  147 

White,  who  was  then  digging  for  gold  in  the  North- 
ern mines.  He  and  his  good  Christian  wife  had 
mercy  on  the  little  Indian  boy  that  looked  up  at 
them  so  pitifully  with  his  wondering  black  eyes. 
At  first  he  had  the  frightened  and  bewildered  look 
of  a  captured  wild  creature,  but  he  soon  began  to  be 
more  at  ease.  He  acquired  the  English  language 
slowly,  and  never  did  lose  the  peculiar  accent  of 
his  tribe.  The  miners  called  him  Jack  White,  not 
knowing  any  other  name  for  him. 

Moving  to  the  beautiful  San  Ramon  Valley,  not 
far  from  the  Bay  of  San  Francisco,  the  Whites 
took  Jack  with  them.  They  taught  him  the  lead- 
ing doctrines  and  facts  of  the  Bible,  and  made  him 
useful  in  domestic  service.  He  grew  and  thrived. 
Broad-shouldered,  muscular,  and  straight  as  an 
arrow,  Jack  was  admired  for  his  strength  and  agil- 
ity by  the  white  boys  with  whom  he  was  brought 
into  contact.  Though  not  quarrelsome,  he  had  a 
steady  courage  that,  backed  by  his  great  strength, 
inspired  respect  and  insured  good  treatment  from 
them.  Growing  up  amid  these  influences,  his 
features  wTere  softened  into  a  civilized  expression, 
and  his  tawny  face  was  not  unpleasing.  The  heavy 
trader-jaw  and  square  forehead  gave  him  an  ap- 
pearance of  hardness  which  was  greatly  relieved 
by  the  honest  look  out  of  his  eyes,  and  the  smile 
which  now  and  then  would  slowly  creep  over  his 


148  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

face,  like  the  movement  of  the  shadow  of  a  thin 
cloud  on  a  calm  day  in  summer.  An  Indian  smiles 
deliberately,  and  in  a  dignified  way — at  least  Jack 
did. 

I  first  knew  Jack  at  Santa  Rosa,  of  which  beau- 
tiful town  his  patron,  Mr.  White,  was  then  the 
marshal.  Jack  came  to  my  Sunday-school,  and 
was  taken  into  a  class  of  about  twenty  boys  taught 
by  myself.  They  were  the  noisy  element  of  the 
school,  ranging  from  ten  to  fifteen  years  of  age — 
too  large  to  show7  the  docility  of  the  little  lads,  but 
not  old  enough  to  have  attained  the  self-command 
and  self-respect  that  come  later  in  life.  Though  he 
was  much  older  than  any  of  them,  and  heavier  than 
his  teacher,  this  class  suited  Jack.  The  white  boys 
all  liked  him,  and  he  liked  me.  We  had  grand 
times  with  that  class.  The  only  way  to  keep  them 
in  order  was  to  keep  them  very  busy.  The  plan 
of  having  them  answer  in  concert  was  adopted  with 
decided  results.  It  kept  them  awake  —  and  the 
whole  school  with  them,  for  California  boys  have 
strong  lungs.  Twenty  boys  speaking  all  at  once, 
with  eager  excitement  and  flashing  eyes,  waked 
the  drowsiest  drone  in  the  room.  A  gentle  hint 
was  given  now  and  then  to  take  a  little  lower  key. 
In  these  lessons,  Jack's  deep  guttural  tones  came 
in  with  marked  effect,  and  it  was  delightful  to  see 
how  he  enjoyed  it  all.  And  the  singing  made  his 


JACK  WHITE.  149 

swarthy  features  glow  with  pleasure,  though  he 
rarely  joined  in  it,  having  some  misgiving  as  to 
the  melody  of  his  voice. 

The  truths  of  the  gospel  took  strong  hold  of 
Jack's  mind,  and  his  inquiries  indicated  a  deep  in- 
terest in  the  matter  of  religion.  I  was  therefore 
not  surprised  when,  during  a  protracted-meeting 
in  the  town,  Jack  became  one  of  the  converts;  but 
there  was  surprise  and  delight  among  the  brethren 
at  the  class-meeting  when  Jack  rose  in  his  place 
and  told  what  great  things  the  Lord  had  done  for 
him,  dwelling  with  special  emphasis  on  the  words, 
"I  am  happy,  because  I  know  Jesus  takes  my  sins 
away — I  know  he  takes  my  sins  away."  His  voice 
melted  into  softness,  and  a  tear  trickled  down  his 
cheek  as  he  spoke;  and  when  Dan  Duncan,  the 
leader,  crossed  over  the  room  and  grasped  his  hand 
in  a  burst  of  joy,  there  was  a  glad  chorus  of  re- 
joicing Methodists  over  Jack  White,  the  Piute 
convert. 

Jack  never  missed  a  service  at  the  church,  and 
in  the  social-meetings  he  never  failed  to  tell  the 
story  of  his  new-born  joy  and  hope,  and  always 
with  thrilling  effect,  as  he  repeated  with  trembling 
voice,  "I  am  happy,  because  I  know  Jesus  takes 
my  sins  away."  Sin  was  a  reality  with  Jack,  and 
the  pardon  of  sin  the  most  wonderful  of  all  facts. 
lie  never  tired  of  telling  it ;  it  opened  a  new  world 


150  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

to  him,  a  world  of  light  and  joy.  Jack  White  in 
the  class-meeting  or  prayer-meeting,  with  beaming 
face,  and  moistened  eyes,  and  softened  voice,  tell- 
ing of  the  love  of  Jesus,  seemed  almost  of  a  differ- 
ent race,  from  the  wretched  Piutes  of  the  Sierras 
and  sage-brush. 

Jack's  baptism  was  a  great  event.  It  was  by 
immersion,  the  first  baptism  of  the  kind  I  ever 
performed — and  almost  the  last.  Jack  had  been 
talked  to  on  the  subject  by  some  zealous  brethren 
of  another  "persuasion,"  who  magnified  that  mode, 
and  though  he  was  willing  to  do  as  I  advised  in 
the  matter,  he  was  evidently  a  little  inclined  to  the 
more  spectacular  way  of  receiving  the  ordinance. 
Mrs.  White  suggested  that  it  might  save  future 
trouble,  and  "spike  a  gun."  So  Jack,  with  four 
others,  was  taken  down  to  Santa  Rosa  Creek,  that 
went  rippling  and  sparkling  along  the  southern 
edge  of  the  town,  and  duly  baptized  in  the  name  of 
the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 
A  great  crowd  covered  the  bridge  just  below,  and 
the  banks  of  the  stream ;  and  when  Wesley  Mock, 
the  Asaph  of  Santa  Rosa  Methodism,  struck  up 

O  happy  day  that  fixed  my  choice 
On  thce,  my  Saviour  and  my  God, 

and  the  chorus — 

Happy  day,  happy  day,  when  Jesus  washed  my  sins  away, 


JACK  WHITE,  151 

was  swelled  by  hundreds  of  voices,  it  was  a  glad 
moment  for  Jack  White  and  all  of  us.  Religiously 
it  was  a  warm  time;  but  the  water  was  very  cold, 
it  being  one  of  the  chilliest  days  I  ever  felt  in  that 
genial  climate. 

"  You  were  rather  awkward,  Brother  Fitzgerald, 
in  immersing  those  persons,"  said  my  stalwart 
friend,  Elder  John  McCorkle,  of  the  "  Christian  " 
or  Campbellite  Church,  who  had  critically  but  not 
.  unkindly  watched  the  proceedings  from  the  bridge. 
"If  you  will  send  for  me  the  next  time,  I  will  do  it 
for  you,"  he  added,  pleasantly. 

I  fear  it  was  awkwardly  done,  for  the  water  was 
very  cold,  and  a  shivering  man  cannot  be  very 
graceful  in  his  movements.  I  would  have  done 
better  in  a  baptistery,  with  warm  water  and  a  rub- 
ber suit.  But  of  all  the  persons  I  have  welcomed 
into  the  Church  during  my  ministry,  the  reception 
of  no  one  has  given  me  more  joy  than  that  of  Jack 
White,  the  Piute  Indian. 

Jack's  heart  yearned  for  his  own  people.  He 
wanted  to  tell  them  of  Jesus,  who  could  take  away 
their  sins;  and  perhaps  his  Indian  instinct  made 
him  long  for  the  freedom  of  the  hills. 

"  I  am  going  to  my  people,"  he  said  to  me ;  "  I 
want  to  tell  them  of  Jesus.  You  will  pray  for 
me?"  he  added,  with  a  quiver  in  his  voice  and  a 
heaving  chest. 


152 


CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 


He  went  away,  and  I  have  never  seen  him  since. 
Where  he  is  now,  I  know  not.  I  trust  I  may  meet 
him  on  Mount  Sionrwith  the  harpers  harping  with 
their  harps,  and  singing,  as  it  were,  a  new  song  be- 
fore the  throne. 

Postscript. — Since  this  Sketch  was  penciled,  the 
Kev.  C.  Y.  Rankin,  in  a  note  dated  Santa  Rosa, 
California,  August  3,  1880,  says:  "Mrs.  White 
asked  me  to  send  you  word  of  the  peaceful  death 
of  Jack  White  (Indian).  He  died  trusting  in 
Jesus." 


THE  KABBI. 


OEATED  in  his  library,  enveloped  in  a  faded 
w3  figured  gown,  a  black  velvet  cap  on  his  mass- 
ive head,  there  was  an  Oriental  look  about  him 
that  arrested  your  attention  at  once.  Power  and 
gentleness,  child-like  simplicity,  and  scholar! mess, 
were  curiously  mingled  in  this  man.  His  library 
was  a  reflex  of  its  owner.  In  it  were  books  that  the 
great  public  libraries  of  the  world  could  not  match 
— black-letter  folios  that  were  almost  as  old  as  the 
printing  art,  illuminated  volumes  that  were  once 
the  pride  and  joy  of  men  who  had  been  in  their 
graves  many  generations,  rabbinical  lore,  theology, 
magic,  and  great  volumes  of  Hebrew  literature 
that  looked,  when  placed  beside  a  modern  book, 
like  an  old  ducal  palace  along-side  a  gingerbread 
cottage  of  to-day.  I  d"  not  think  he  ever  felt  at 
home  amid  the  hurry  and  rush  of  San  Francisco. 
Ho  could  not  adjust  himself  to  the  people.  He 
wit*  devout,  and  they  were  intensely  worldly.  Ho 

(153) 


154  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

thundered  this  sentence  from  the  teacher's  desk  in 
the  synagogue  one  morning :  "  O  ye  Jews  of  San 
Francisco,  you  have  so  fully  given  yourselves  up 
to  material  things  that  you  are  losing  the  very  in- 
stinct of  immortality.  Your  only  idea  of  religion 
is  to  acquire  the  Hebrew  language,  and  you  do  n't 
know  that!"  His  port  and  voice  were  like  those 
of  one  of  the  old  Hebrew  prophets.  Elijah  him- 
self was  not  more  fearless.  Yet,  how  deep  was  his 
love  for  his  race!  Jeremiah  was  not  more  tender 
when  he  wept  for  the  slain  of  the  daughter  of  his 
people.  His  reproofs  were  resented,  and  he  had  a 
taste  of  persecution  ;  but  the  Jews  of  San  Fran- 
cisco understood  him  at  last.  The  poor  and  the 
little  children  knew  him  from  the  start.  He  lived 
mostly  among  his  books,  and  in  his  school  for  poor 
children,  whom  he  taught  without  charge.  His 
habits  were  so  simple  and  his  bodily  wants  so  few 
that  it  cost  him  but  a  trifle  to  live.  When  the 
synagogue  frowned  on  him,  he  was  as  independent 
as  Elijah  at  the  brook  Cherith.  It  is  «hard  to 
starve  a  man  to  whom  crackers  and  water  are  a 
royal  feast. 

His  belief  in  God  and  in  the  supernatural  was 
startlirigly  vivid.  The  Voice  that  spoke  from  Si- 
nai was  still  audible  to  him,  and  the  Arm  that  de- 
livered Israel  he  saw  still  stretched  out  over  the 
nations.  The  miracles  of  the  Old  Testament  were 


THE  EADDL  155 

as  real  to  him  as  the  premiership  of  Disraeli,  or 
the  financiering  of  the  Kothschilds.  There  was,  at 
the  same  time,  a  vein  of  rationalism  that  ran 
through  his  thought  and  speech.  We  were  speak- 
ing one  day  on  the  subject  of  miracles,  and,  with 
his  usual  energy  of  manner,  he  said : 

"  There  was  no  need  of  any  literal  angel  to  shut 
the  mouths  of  the  lions  to  save  Daniel ;  the  awful 
holiness  of  the  prophet  ivas  enough.  There  was  so 
much  of  God  in  him  that  the  savage  creatures  sub- 
mitted to  him  as  they  did  to  unsinning  Adam. 
Man's  dominion  over  nature  was  broken  by  sin, 
but  in  the  golden  age  to  come  it  will  be  restored. 
A  man  in  full  communion  with  God  wields  a  di- 
vine power  in  every  sphere  that  he  touches." 

His  face  glowed  as  he  spoke,  and  his  voice  wa» 
subdued  into  a  solemnity  of  tone  that  told  how 
his  reverent  and  adoring  soul  was  thrilled  with 
this  vision  of  the  coming  glory  of  redeemed  hu- 
manity. 

He  knew  the  New  Testament  by  heart,  as  well 
as  the  Old.  The  sayings  of  Jesus  were  often  on 
his  lips. 

One  clay,  in  a  musing,  half-soliloquizing  way,  I 
heard  him  say: 

"It  is  wonderful,  wonderful !  a  Hebrew  peasant 
from  the  hills  of  Galilee,  without  learning,  noble 
birth,  or  power,  subverts  all  the  philosophies  of 


156  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

the  world,  and  makes  himself  the  central  figure  of 
all  history.  It  is  wonderful !  " 

He  half  whispered  the  words,  and  his  eyes  had 
the  introspective  look  of  a  man  who  is  thinking 
deeply. 

He  came  to  see  me  at  our  cottage  on  Post  street 
one  morning  before  breakfast.  In  grading  a  street, 
a  house  in  which  I  had  lived  and  had  the  ill  luck 
to  own,  on  Pine  street,  had  been  undermined,  and 
toppled  over  into  the  street  below,  falling  on  the 
slate-roof  and  breaking  all  to  pieces.  He  came 
to  tell  me  of  it,  and  to  extend  his  sympathy. 

"I  thought  I  would  come  first,  so  you  might  get 
the  bad  news  from  a  friend  rather  than  a  stranger. 
You  have  lost  a  house;  but  it  is  a  small  matter. 
Your  little  boy  there  might  have  put  out  his  eye 
with  a  pair  of  scissors,  or  he  might  have  swallowed 
a  pin  and  lost  his  life.  There  are  many  things 
constantly  taking  place  that  are  harder  to  bear 
than  the  loss  of  a  house." 

Many  other  wise  words  did  the  Rabbi  speak,  and 
before  he  left  I  felt  that  a  house  was  indeed  a  small 
thing  to  grieve  over. 

He  spoke  with  charming  freedom  and  candor  of 
all  sorts  of  people. 

"Of  Christians,  the  Unitarians  have  the  best 
heads,  and  the  Methodists -the  best  hearts.  The 
Roman  Catholics  hold  the  masses,  because  they 


THE  RABBI.  157 

give  their  people  plenty  of  form.  The  masses  will 
never  receive  truth  in  its  simple  essence;  they 
must  have  it  in  a  way  that  will  make  it  digestible 
and  assimilable,  just  as  their  stomachs  demand 
bread,  and  meats,  and  fruits,  not  tneir  extracts  or 
distilled  essences,  for  daily  food.  As  to  Judaism, 
it  is  on  the  eve  of  great  changes.  What  these 
changes  will  be  I  know  not,  except  that  I  am  sure 
the  God  of  our  fathers  will  fulfill  his  promise  to 
Israel.  This  generation  wrill  probably  see  great 
things." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  literal  restoration  of  the 
Jews  to  Palestine  ?  " 

He  looked  at  me  with  an  intense  gaze,  and  has- 
tened not  to  answer.  At  last  he  spoke  slowly : 

"When  the  perturbed  elements  of  religious 
thought  crystallize  into  clearness  and  enduring 
forms,  the  chosen  people  will  be  one  of  the  chief 
factors  in  reaching  that  final  solution  of  the  prob- 
lems which  convulse  this  age." 

He  Avas  one  of  the  speakers  at  the  great  Mortara 
indignation-meeting  in  San  Francisco.  The  speech 
of  the  occasion  was  that  of  Colonel  Baker,  the 
orator  who  went  to  Oregon,  and  in  a  single  cam- 
paign magnetized  the  Oregonians  so  completely  by 
his  splendid  eloquence  that,  passing  by  all  their 
old  party  leaders,  they  sent  him  to  the  United 
States  Senate.  No  one  who  heard  Baker's  pdrora- 


158  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES, 

tion  that  night  will  ever  forget  it.  His  dark  eyes 
blazed,  his  form  dilated,  and  his  voice  was  like  a 
bugle  in  battle. 

"They  tell  us  that  the  Jew  is  accursed  of  God. 
This  has  been  the  plea  of  the  bloody  tyrants  and 
robbers  that  oppressed  and  plundered  them  during 
the  long  ages  of  their  exile  and  agony.  Bat  the 
Almighty  God  executes  his  own  judgments.  Woe 
to  him  who  presumes  to  wield  his  thunderbolts! 
They  fall  in  blasting,  consuming  vengeance  upon 
his  own  head.  God  deals  with  his  chosen  people 
in  judgment;  but  he  says  to  men,  Touch  them -at 
your  peril!  They  that  spoil  them  shall  be  for  a 
spoil ;  they  that  carried  them  away  captive  shall 
themselves  go  into  captivity.  The  Assyrian  smote 
the  Jew,  and  where  is  the  proud  Assyrian  Empire? 
Rome  ground  them  under  her  iron  heel,  and  where 
is  the  empire  ,r>f  the  Csesars?  Spain  smote  the 
Jew,  and  where  as  her  glory?  The  desert  sands 
cover  the  site  of  Babylon  the-Great.  The  power 
that  hurled  the  hosts  of  Titus  against  the  holy 
city  Jerusalem  was  shivered  to  pieces.  The  ban- 
ners of  Spain,  that  floated  in  triumph  over,  half 
the  world,  and  fluttered  in  the  breez.es  of  every 
sea,  is  now  the  emblem  of  a  glory  that  is  gone, 
and  the  ensign  of  a  power  that  has  waned.  The 
Jews  are  in  the  hands  of  God.  He  has  dealt  with 
them  in  judgment,  but  they  are  still  the  children 


THE  BABBI.  159 

of  promise.  The  day  of  their  long  exile  shall  end, 
and  they  will  return  to  Zion  with  songs  and  ever- 
lasting joy  upon  their  heads!" 

The  words  were  something  like  these,  but  who 
could  picture  Baker's  oratory?  As  well  try  to 
paint  a  storm  in  the  tropics.  Real  thunder  and 
lightning  cannot  be  put  on  canvas. 

The  Rabbi  made  a  speech,  and  it  was  the  speech 
of  a  man  who  had  come  from  his  books  and 
prayers.  He  made  a  tender  appeal  for  the  mother 
and  father  of  the  abducted  Jewish  boy,  and  ar- 
gued the  question  as  calmly,  and  in  as  sweet  a 
spirit,  as  if  he  had  been  talking  over  an  abstract 
question  in  his  study.  The-  vast  crowd  looked 
upon  that  strange  figure  with  a  sort  of  pleased 
wonder,  and  the  Rabbi  seemed  almost  unconscious 
of  their  presence.  He  was  as  free  from  self-con- 
sciousness as  a  little  child,  and  iiany  a  Gentile 
heart  warmed  that  night  to  the  srnple-hearted  sage 
who  stood  before  them  pleading  for  the  rights  of 
human  nature. 

The  old  man  was  often  very  sad.  In  such  moods 
he  would  come  round  to  our  cottage  on  Post  street, 
and  sit  with  us  until  late  at  night,  unburdening 
his  aching  heart,  and  relaxing  by  degrees  into  a 
playfulness  that  was  charming  from  its  very  awk- 
wardness. He  would  bring  little  picture-books  for 
the  children,  pat  them  on  their  heads,  and  praise 


160  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

them.  They  were  always  glad  to  see 'him,  and 
would  nestle  round  him  lovingly.  We  all  loved 
him,  and  felt  glad  in  the  thought  that  he  left  our 
little  circle  lighter  at  heart.  He  lived  alone. 
Once,  when  I  playfully  spoke  to  him  of  matri- 
mony, he  laughed  quietly,  and  said : 

"  No,  no — my  books  and  my  poor  school-chil- 
dren are  enough  for  me." 

He  died  suddenly  and  alone.  He  had  been  out 
one  windy  night  visiting  the  poor,  came  home  sick, 
and  before  morning  was  in  that  world  of  spirits 
which  was  so  real  to  his  faith,  and  for  which  ho 
longed.  He  left  his  little  fortune  of  a  few  thou- 
sand dollars  to  the  poor  of  his  native  village  of 
Posen,  in  Poland.  And  thus  passed  from  Califor- 
nia-life Dr.  Julius  Eckman,  the  Rabbi. 


MY  MINING  SPECULATION. 


I  BELIEVE  the  Lord  has  put  me  in  the  way 
of  making  a  competency  for  my  old  age," 
said  the  dear  old  Doctor,  as  he  seated  himself  in 
the  arm-chair  reserved  for  him  at  the  cottage  at 
North  Beach. 

"How?"  I  asked. 

"  I  met  a  Texas  man  to-day,  who  told  me  of  the 
discovery  of  an  immensely  rich  silver  mining  dis- 
trict in  Deep  Spring  Valley,  Mono  county,  and 
he  says  he  can  get  me  in  as  one  of  the  owners/' 

I  laughingly  made  some  remark  expressive  of 
incredulity.  The  honest  and  benignant  face  of 
the  old  Doctor  showed  that  he  was  a  little  nettled. 

"  I  have  made  full  inquiry,  and  am  sure  this  is 
no  mere  speculation.  The  stock  will  not  be  put 
upon  the  market,  and  will  not  be  assessable. 
They  propose  to  make  me  a  trustee,  and  the  own- 
ers, limited  in  number,  will  have  entire  control  of 
the  property.  But  I  will  not  be  hasty  in  the  inat- 
11  (161) 


162  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

ter.  I  will  make  it  a  subject  of  prayer  for  twen- 
ty-four hours,  and  then  if  there  be  no  adverse  in- 
dications I  will  go  on  with  it." 

The  next  day  I  met  the  broad-faced  Texan,  and 
was  impressed  by  him  as  the  old  Doctor  had  been. 

It  seemed  a  sure  thing.  An  old  prospector  had 
been  equipped  and  sent  out  by  a  few  gentlemen, 
and  he  had  found  outcroppings  of  silver  in  a 
range  of  hills  extending  not  less  than  three  miles. 
Assays  had  been  made  of  the  ores,  and  they  were 
found  to  be  very  rich.  All  the  timber  and  water- 
power  of  Deep  Spring  Valley  had  been  taken  up 
for  the  company  under  the  general  and  local  pre- 
emption and  mining  laws.  It  was  a  big  thing. 
The  beauty  of  the  whole  arrangement  was  that  no 
"mining  sharps"  were  to  be  let  in;  we  were  to 
manage  it  ourselves,  and  reap  all  the  profits. 

We  went  into  it,  the  old  Doctor  and  I,  feeling 
deeply  grateful  to  the  broad-faced  Texan,  who  had 
so  kindly  given  us  the  chance.  I  was  made  a 
trustee,  and  began  to  have  a  decidedly  business 
feeling  as  such.  At  the  meetings  of  "  the  board," 
my  opinions  were  frequently  called  for,  and  were 
given  with  great  gravity.  The  money  was  paid 
for  the  shares  I  had  taken,  and  the  precious  evi- 
dences of  ownership  were  carefully  put  in  a  place 
of  safety.  A  mill  was  built  near  the  richest  of 
the  claims,  and  the  assays  were  good.  There  were 


Mr  MINING  SPECULATION.  163 

delays,  and  more  money  was  called  for,  and  sent 
up.  The  assays  were  still  good,  and  the  reports 
from  our  superintendent  were  glowing.  "  The 
biggest  thing  in  the  history  of  California  mining," 
he  wrote;  and  when  the  secretary  read  his  letter 
to  the  board,  there  was  a  happy  expression  on  each 
face. 

At  this  point  I  began  to  be  troubled.  It 
seemed,  from  reasonable  ciphering,  that  I  should 
soon  be  a  millionaire.  It  made  me  feel  solemn 
and  anxious.  .  I  lay  awake  at  night,  praying 
that  I  might  not  be  spoiled  by  my  good  fortune. 
The  scriptures  that  speak  of  the  deceitfulness  of 
riches  were  called  to  mind,  and  I  rejoiced  with 
trembling.  Many  beneficent  'enterprises  were 
planned,  principally  in  the  line  of  endowing  col- 
leges, and  paying  church-debts.  (I  had  had  an 
experience  in  this  line.)  There  were  further  de- 
lays, and  more  money  was  called  for.  The  ores 
were  rebellious,  and  our  "  process "  did  not  suit 
them.  Fryborg  and  Deep  Spring  Valley  were 
not  the  same.  A  new  superintendent  —  one  that 
understood  rebellious  ores  —  was  employed  at  a 
higher  salary.  He  reported  that  all  was  right, 
and  that  we  might  expect  "big  news"  in  a  few 
days,  as  he  proposed  to  crush  about  seventy  tons 
of  the  best  rock,  "by  a  new  and  improved  pro- 


164  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

The  board  held  frequent  meetings,  and  in  view 
of  the  nearness  of  great  results  did  not  hesitate  to 
meet  the  requisitions  made  for  further  outlays  of 
money.  They  resolved  to  pursue  a  prudent  but 
vigorous  policy  in  developing  the  vast  property 
when  the  mill  should  be  fairly  in  operation. 

All  this  time  I  felt  an  under-current  of  anxiety 
lest  I  might  sustain  spiritual  loss  by  my  sudden 
accession  to  great  wealth,  and  continued  to  fortify 
myself  with  good  resolutions. 

As  a  matter  of  special  caution,  I  sent  for  a  par- 
cel of  the  ore,  and  had  a  private  assay  made  of  it. 
The  assay  was  good. 

The  new  superintendent  notified  us  that  on  a 
certain  date  we  might  look  for  a  report  of  the  re- 
sult of  the  first  great  crushing  and  clean-up  of  the 
seventy  tons  of  rock.  The  day  came.  On  Kear- 
ny  street  I  met  one  of  the  stockholders — a  careful 
Presbyterian  brother,  who  loved  money.  He  had 
a  solemn  look,  and  was  walking  slowly,  as  if  in  deep 
thought.  Lifting  his  eyes  as  we  met,  he  saw  me, 
and  spoke: 

"Mislead!" 

"What  is  lead?'5 

"  Our  silver  mine  in  Deep  Spring  Valley." 

Yes;  from  the  seventy  tons  of  rock  we  got 
eleven  dollars  in  silver,  and  about  fifty  pounds  of 
as  good  lead  as  was  ever  molded  into  bullets. 


J/r  MIXING  SPECULATION. 


165 


The  board  held  a  meeting  the  next  evening.  It 
was  a  solemn  one.  The  fifty-pound  bar  of  lead 
was  placed  in  the  midst,  and  was  eyed  reproach- 
fully. I  resigned  my  trusteeship,  and  they  saw 
me  not  again.  That  was  my  first  and  last  mining 
speculation.  It  failed  somehow — but  the  assays 
were  all  very  good. 


MIKE  EEESE. 


I  HAD  business  with  him,  and  went  at  a  busi- 
ness hour.  No  introduction  was  needed,  for 
he  had  been  my  landlord,  and  no  tenant  of  his 
ever  had  reason  to  complain  that  he  did  not  get  a 
visit  from  him,  in  person  or  by  proxy,  at  least  once 
a  month.  He  was  a  punctual  man — as  a  collector 
of  what  was  due  him.  Seeing  that  he  was  intently 
engaged,  I  paused  and  looked  at  him.  A  man  of 
huge  frame,  with  enormous  hands  and  feet,  mass- 
ive head,  receding  forehead,  and  heavy  cerebral 
development,  full  sensual  lips,  large  nose,  and  pe- 
culiar eyes  that  seemed  at  the  same  time  to  look 
through  you  and  to  shrink  from  your  gaze — he  was 
a  man  at  whom  a  stranger  would  stop  in  the  street 
to  get  a  second  gaze.  There  he  sat  at  his  desk,  too 
much  absorbed  to  notice  my  entrance.  Before  him 
lay  a  .large  pile  of  one -thousand -dollar  United 
States  Government  bonds,  and  he  was  clipping  off 
the  coupons.  That  face!  it  was  a  study  as  he  sat 
(166) 


MIKE  EEESE.  167 

using  the  big  pair  of  scissors.  A  hungry  boy  in 
the  act  of  taking  into  his  mouth  a  ripe  cherry,  a 
mother  gazing  down  into  the  face  of  her  pretty 
sleeping  child,  a  lover  looking  into  the  eyes  of  his 
charmer,  are  but  faint  figures  by  which  to  express 
the  intense  pleasure  he  felt  in  his  work.  But  there 
was  also  a  feline  element  in  his  joy — his  handling 
of  those  bonds  was  somewhat  like  a  cat  toying 
with  its  prey.  When  at  length  he  raised  his  head, 
there  was  a  fierce  gleam  in  his  eye  and  a  flush 
in  his  face.  I  had  come  upon  a  devotee  engaged 
in  worship.  This  was  Mike  Reese,  the  miser 
and  millionaire.  Placing  his  huge  left-hand 
on  the  pile  of  bonds,  he  gruffly  returned  my  salu- 
tation, 

"Good  morning." 

He  turned  as  he  spoke,  and  cast  a  look  of  scru- 
tiny into  my  face  which  said  plain  enough  that  he 
wanted  me  to  make  known  my  business  with  him 
at  once. 

I  told  him  what  was  wanted.  At  the  request 
of  the  official  board  of  the  Minna-street  Church  I 
had  come  to  ask  him  to  make  a  contribution  to- 
ward the  payment  of  its  debt. 

"O  yes;  I  was  expecting  you.  They  all  come 
to  me.  Father  Gallagher,  of  the  Catholic  Church, 
Dr.  Wyatt,  of  the  Episcopal  Church,  and  all  the 
others,  have  been  here.  I  feel  friendly  to  the 


168  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

Churches,  and  I  treat  all  alike — it  won't  do  for 
me  to  be  partial — I  do  n't  give  to  any  !  " 

That  last  clause  was  an  anticlimax,  dashing  my 
hopes  rudely;  but  I  saw  he  meant  it,  and  left.  I 
never  heard  of  his  departing  from  the  rule  of  strict 
impartiality  he  had  laid  down  for  himself. 

We  met  at  times  at  a  restaurant  on  Clay  street. 
He  was  a  hearty  feeder,  and  it  was  amusing  to  see 
how  skillfully  in  the  choice  of  dishes  and  the  thor- 
oughness with  which  he  emptied  them  he  could 
combine  economy  with  plenty.  On  several  of  these 
occasions,  when  we  chanced  to  sit  at  the  same 
table,  I  proposed  to  pay  for  both  of  us,  and  he 
quickly  assented,  his  hard,  heavy  features  light- 
ing up  with  undisguised  pleasure  at  the  sugges- 
tion, as  he  shambled  out  of  the  room  amid  the 
smiles  of  the  company  present,  most  of  whom 
knew  him  as  a  millionaire,  and  me  as  a  Methodist 
preacher. 

He  had  one  affair  of  the  heart.  Cupid  played 
a  prank  on  him  that  was  the  occasion  of  much 
merriment  in  the  San  Francisco  newspapers,  and 
of  much  grief  to  him.  A  widow  was  his  enslaver 
and  tormentor — the  old  story.  She  sued  him  for 
breach  of  promise  of  marriage.  The  trial  made 
great  fun  for  the  lawyers,  reporters,  and  the  amused 
public  generally;  but  it  was  no  fun  for  him.  He 
was  mulcted  for  six  thousand  dollars  and  costs  of 


MIKE  REESE.  160 

the  suit.  It  was  during  the  time  I  was  renting 
one  of  his  offices  on  Washington  street.  I  called 
to  see  him,  wishing  to  have  some  repairs  made. 
His  clerk  met  me  in  the  narrow  hall,  and  there 
was  a  mischievous  twinkle  in  his  eye  as  he  said  : 

"You  had  better  come  another  day — the  old 
man  has  just  paid  that  judgment  in  the  breach  of 
promise  case,  and  he  is  in  a  bad  way." 

Hearing  our  voices,  he  said, 

"Who  is  there? — come  in." 

I  went  in,  and  found  him  sitting  leaning  on  his 
desk,  the  picture  of  intense  wretchedness.  He  was 
all  unstrung,  his  jaw  fallen,  and  a  most  pitiful 
face  met  mine  as  he  looked,  up  and  said,  in  a  bro- 
ken voice, 

"  Come  some  other  day — I  can  do  no  business 
to-day ;  I  am  very  unwell." 

He  was  indeed  sick — sick  at  heart.  I  felt  sorry 
for  him.  Pain  always  excites  my  pity,  no  matter 
what  may  be  its  cause.  He  was  a  miser,  and  the 
payment  of  those  thousands  of  dollars  was  like 
tearing  him  asunder.  He  did  not  mind  the  jibes 
of  the  newspapers,  but  the  loss  of  the  money  was 
almost  killing.  He  had  not  set  his  heart  on  pop- 
ularity, but  cash. 

He  had  another  special  trouble,  but  with  a  dif- 
ferent sort  of  ending.  It  was  discovered  by  a 
neighbor  of  his  that,  by  some  mismeasurement  of 


170  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

the  surveyors,  he  (Reese)  had  built  the  wall  of  one 
of  his  immense  business-houses  on  Front  street  six 
inches  beyond  his  own  proper  line,  taking  in  just 
so  much  of  that  neighbor's  lot.  Not  being  on 
friendly  terms  with  Reese,  his  neighbor  made  a 
peremptory  demand  for  the  removal  of  the  wall, 
or  the  payment  of  a  heavy  price  for  the  ground. 
Here  was  misery  for  the^miser.  He  writhed  in 
mental  agony,  and  begged  for  easier  terms,  but  in 
vain.  His  neighbor  would'  not  relent.  The  busi- 
ness men  of  the  vicim%^ather  enjoyed  the  situa- 
tion, humorously  watching  the  progress  of  the 
affair.  It  was  a  case  .of  diamond  cut  diamond, 
both  parties  bearing  the  reputation  of  being  hard 
men  to  deal  with.  A  day  was  fixed  for  Reese  to 
give  a  definite  answer  to  his  neighbor's  demand, 
with  notice  that,  in  case  of  his  non-compliance,  suit 
against  him  would  be  begun  at  once.  The  day 
came,  and  with  it  a  remarkable  change  in  Reese's 
tone.  He  sent  a  short  note  to  his  enemy  breath- 
ing profanity  and  defiance. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  mused  the  puzzled  citi- 
zen; "Reese  has  made  some  discovery  that  makes 
him  think  he  has  the  upper-hand,  else  he  would 
not  talk  this  way." 

And  he  sat  and  thought.  The  instinct  of  this 
class  of  men  where  money  is  involved  is  like  a 
miracle. 


MIKE  REESE.  171 

"I  have  it!"  he  suddenly  exclaimed;  "Reese 
has  the  same  hold  on  me  that  I  have  on  him." 

Reese  happened  to  be  the  owner  of  another  lot 
adjoining  that  of  his  enemy,  on  the  ot^pr  side.  It 
occurred  to  him  that,  as  all  thes^.^rots  were  sur- 
veyed at  the  same  time  by  the- same  party,  it 
was  most  likely  that  as  his  line  had  gone  six  inches 
too  far  on  the  one  side^lis  enemy's  had  gone  as 
much  too  far  on  the  other.  And^£o  it  was.  He 
had  quietly  a  survey  made  of  the  premises,  and 
he  chuckled  with  inward  joy  to  find  that  he  held 
this  winning  card  in  the  unfriendly  game.  With 
grim  politeness  the  neighbors  exchanged  deeds  for 
the  two  half  feet  of  grouncj,  and  their  war  ended. 
The  moral  of  this  incident  is  for  him  who  hath  wit 
enough  to  see  it. 

For  several  seasons  he  came  every  morning  to 
North  Beach  to  take  sea -baths.  Sometimes  he 
rode  his  well-known  white  horse,  but  oftener  he 
walked.  He  bathed  in  the  open  sea,  making,  as 
one  expressed  it,  twenty-five  cents  out  of  the  Pa- 
cific Ocean,  by  avoiding  the  bath-house.  Was  this 
the  charm  that  drew  him  forth  so  early  ?  It  not 
seldom  chanced  that  we  walked  down-town  together. 
At  times  he  was  quite  communicative,  speaking  of 
himself  in  a  way  that  was  peculiar.  It  seems  he 
had  thoughts  of  marrying  before  his  episode  with 
the  widow. 


172  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

"Do  you  think  a  young  girl  of  twenty  could 
love  an  old  man  like  me?"  he  asked  me  one  day, 
as  we  were  walking  along  the  street. 

I  looked  at  his  huge  and  'ungainly  bulk,  and 
into  his  animal  face,  and  made  no  direct  answer. 
Love!  Six  millions  of  dollars  is  a  great  sum. 
Money  may  buy  youth  and  beauty,  but  love  does 
not  come  at  its  call.  God's  highest  gifts  are  free; 
only  the  second-rate  things  can  be  bought  with 
money.  Did  this  sordid  old  man  yearn  for  pure 
human  love  amid  his  millions?  Did  such  a  dream 
cast  a  momentary  glamour  over  a  life  spent  in 
raking  among  the  muck-heaps?  If  so,  it  passed 
away,  for  he  never  married. 

He  understood  his  own  case.  He  knew  in  what 
estimation  he  was  held  by  the  public,  and  did  not 
conceal  his  scorn  for  its  opinion. 

"My  love  of  money  is  a  disease.  My  saving 
and  hoarding  as  I  do  is  irrational,  and  I  know  it. 
It  pains  me  to  pay  five  cents  for  a  street-car  ride,  or 
a  quarter  of  a  dollar  for  a  dinner.  My  pleasure 
in  accumulating  property  is  morbid,  but  I  have 
felt  it  from  the  time  I  was  a  foot-peddler  in  Char- 
lotte, Campbell,  and  Pittsylvania  counties,  in  Vir- 
ginia, until  now.  It  is  a  sort  of  insanity,  and  it  is 
incurable;  but  it  is  about  as  good  a  form  of  mad- 
ness as  any,  and  all  the  world  is  mad  in  some 
fashion." 


MIKE  REESE.  173 

This  was  the  substance  of  what  he  said  of  him- 
self when  in  one  of  his  moods  of  free  speech,  and 
it  gave  me  a  new  idea  of  human  nature — a  man 
whose  keen  and  penetrating  brain  could  subject 
his  own  consciousness  to  a  cool  and  correct  analy- 
sis, seeing  clearly  the  folly  which  he  could  not  re- 
sist. The  autobiography  of  such  a  man  might 
furnish  a  curious  psychological  study,  and  explain 
the  formation  and  development  in  society  of  those 
moral  monsters  called  misers.  Nowhere  in  litera- 
ture has  such  a  character  been  fully  portrayed, 
though  Shakespeare  and  George  Eliot  have  given 
vivid  touches  of  some  of  its  features. 

He  always  retained  a  kind,  feeling  for  the  South, 
over  whose  hills  he  had  borne  his  peddler's  pack 
when  a  youth/  After  the  war,  two  young  ex-Con- 
federate soldiers  came  to  San  Francisco  to  seek 
their  fortunes.  A  small  room  adjoining  my  office 
was  vacant,  and  the  brothers  requested  me  to  se- 
cure it  for  them  as  cheap  as  possible.  I  applied 
to  Keese,  telling  him  who  the  young  men  were,  and 
describing  their  broken  and  impecunious  condition. 

"Tell  them  to  take  the  room  free  of  rent — but 
it  ought  to  bring  five  dollars  a  month." 

It  took  a  mighty  effort,  and  he  sighed  as  he 
spoke  the  words.  I  never  heard  of  his  acting  sim- 
ilarly in  any  other  case,  and  I  put  this  down  to  his 
credit,  glad  to  know  that  there  was  a  warm  spot  in 


• 


174  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

that  mountain  of  mud  and  ice.  A  report  of  this 
generous  act  got  afloat  in  the  city,  and  many  were 
the  inquiries  I  received  as  to  its  truth.  There  was 
general  incredulity. 

His  health  failed,  and  he  crossed  the  seas.  Per- 
haps he  wished  to  visit  his  native  hills  in  Germany, 
which  he  had  last  seen  when  a  child.  There  he 
died,  leaving  all  his  millions  to  his  kindred,  save  a 
bequest  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars 
to  the  University  of  California.  What  were  his 
last  thoughts,  what  was  his  final  verdict  concern- 
ing human  life,  I  know  not.  Empty-handed  he 
entered  the  world  of  spirits,  where,  the  film  fallen 
from  his  vision,  he  saw  the  Eternal  Kealities. 
What  amazement  must  have  followed  his  awaken- 
ing! 


UNCLE  NOLAN. 


HE  was  black  and  ugly;  but  it  Was  an  ugli- 
ness that  did  not  disgust  or  repel  you.  His 
face  had  a  touch  both  of  the  comic  and  the  pathetic. 
His  mouth  was  very  wide,  his  lips  very  thick  and 
the  color  of  a  ripe  damson,  blue-black;  his  nose 
made  up  in  width  what  it  lacked  in  elevation;  his 
ears  were  big,  and  bent  forward ;  his  eyes  were  a 
dull  white,  on  a  very  dark  ground ;  his  wool  was 
white  and  thick.  His  age  might  be  anywhere 
along  from  seventy  onward.  A  black  man's  age, 
like  that  of  a  horse,  becomes  dubious  after  reach- 
ing a  certain  stage. 

He  came  to  the  class-meeting  in  the  Pine-street 
Church,  in  San  Francisco,  one  Sabbath  morning. 
He  asked  leave  to  speak,  which  was  granted. 

"  Bredren,  I  come  here  sometime  ago,  from  Vicks- 
burg,  Mississippi,  where  I  has  lived  forty  year,,  or 
more.  I  heered  dar  was  a  culud  church  up  on  de 
hill,  an'  I  thought  I  'd  go  an'  washup  wid  'em.  I 

(175) 


176  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

went  dar  three  or  fo'  Sundays,  but  I  foun'  deir 
ways  did  n't  suit  me,  an'  my  ways  did  n't  suit  dem. 
Dey  was  Yankees'  niggers,  an'  [proudly]  I 's  a 
Southern  man  myself.  Sumbody  tole  me  dar  was 
a  Southern  Church  down  here  on  Pine  street,  an'  I 
thought  I  'd  cum  an'  look  in.  Soon  's  I  got  inside 
de  church,  an'  look  roun'  a  minit,  I  feels  at  home. 
Dey  look  like  home-folks ;  de  preacher  preach  like 
home-folks ;  de  people  sing  like  home-folks.  Yer 
see,  chillun,  I  'se  a  Southern  man  myself  [emphat- 
ically], and  I'se  a  Southern  Methodis'.  Dis  is  de 
Church  I  was  borned  in,  an'  dis  is  de  Churclj  I 
was  rarred  in,  an'  [with  great  energy]  dis  is  de 
Church  which  de  Scripter  says  de  gates  ob  hell 
shall  not  prevail  ag'in  it !  ["Amen ! "  from  Father 
Newman  and  others.]  When  dey  heerd  I  was 
comin'  to  dis  Church,  some  ob  'em  got  arter  me 
'bout  it.  Dey  say  dis  Church  was  a  enemy  to  de 
black  people,  and  dat  dey  was  in  favor  ob  slavery. 
I  tole  'em  de  Scripter  said,  'Love  your  enemies,'  an' 
den  I  took  de  Bible  an'  read  what  it  says  about 
slavery  —  I  can  read  some,  chillun  —  'Servants, 
obey  yer  masters  in  all  things,  not  wid  eye-service, 
as  men-pleasers,  but  as  unto  de  Lord;'  and  so  on. 
But,  bless  yer  souls,  chillun,  dey  would  n't  lis'eu  to 
dat — so  I  foun1  out  dey  was  abberlishen  niggers,  an' 
He  fern!" 

Yes,  he  left  them,  and  came  to  us.     I  received 


UNCLE  NOLAN.  177 

him  into  the  Church  in  due  form,  and  with  no 
little  eclat,  he  being  the  only  son  of  Ham  on  our 
roll  of  members  in  San  Francisco.  He  stood  firm 
to  his  Southern  Methodist  colors  under  a  great 
pressure. 

"  Yer  ought  ter  be  killed  fer  goin'  ter  dat  South- 
ern Church,"  said  one  of  his  colored  acquaintances 
one  day,  as  they  met  in  the  street. 

"Kill  me,  den,"  said  Uncle  Nolan,  with  proud 
humility;  "kill  me,  den;  yer  can't  cheat  me  out 
ob  many  days,  nohow." 

He  made  a  living,  and  something  over,  by  rag- 
picking  at  North  Beach  and  elsewhere,  until  the 
Chinese  entered  into  competition  with  him,  and 
then  it  was  hard  times  for  Uncle  Nolan.  His  eye- 
sight partially  failed  him,  and  it  was  pitiful  to  see 
him  on  the  beach,  his  threadbare  garments  flutter- 
ing in  the  wind,  groping  amid  the  rubbish  for  rags, 
or  shuffling  along  the  streets  with  a  huge  sack  on 
his  back,  and  his  old  felt  hat  tied  under  his  nose 
with  a  string,  picking  his  way  carefully  to  spare 
his  swollen  feet,  which  were  tied  up  with  bagging 
and  woolens.  His  religious  fervor  never  cooled ;  I 
never  heard  him  complain.  He  never  ceased  to 
be  joyously  thankful  for  two  things — his  freedom 
and  his  religion.  But,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  he 
was  a  pro-slavery  man  to  the  last.  Even  after  the 
war,  he  stood  to  his  opinion. 
12 


178  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

"Dem  niggers  in  de  South  thinks  dey  is  free, but 
dey  ain't.  'Fore  it  *s  all  ob;er^  all  clat  ain't  dead  will 
be  glad  to  git  back  to  deir  roasters,"  he  would  say. 

Yet  he  was  very  proud  of  his  awn  freedom,  and 
took  the  utmost  care  of  his  free-*papers.  He  had 
no  desire  to  resume  his  former  relation  to  the  pe- 
culiar and  patriarchal  institution.  He  was  not 
the  first  philosopher  who  has  had  one  theory  for 
his  fellows,  and  another  for  himself. 

Uncle  Nolan  would  talk  of  religion  by  the  hour, 
He  never  tired  of  that  theme.  His  faith  was  sim- 
ple and  strong,  but,  like  most  of  his  race,  he  had 
a  tinge  of  superstition.  He  was  a  dreamer  of 
dreams,  and  he  believed  in  them.  Here  is  one 
which  he  recited  to  me.  His  weird  manner,  and 
low,  chanting  tone,  I  must  leave  to  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  reader: 

UNCLE  NOLAN'S  DREAM. 

A  tall  black  man  came  along,  an'  took  me  by  de 
arm,  an'  tole  me  he  had  come  for  me.  I  said : 

"What  yer  want  wid  me?" 

"  I  come  to  carry  yer  down  into  de  darkness." 

"What  for?* 

"'Cause  you  did  n't  follow  de  Lord." 

Wid  dat,  he  pulled  me  'long  de  street  till  he 
come  to  a  big  black  house,  de  biggest  house  an'  de 
thickest  walls  I  eber  seed.  We  went  in  a  little 


UNCLE  NOLAN.  179 

do',  an'  den  he  took  me  down  a  long  sta'rs  in  de 
dark,  till  we  come  to  a  big  do' ;  we  went  inside, 
an'  den  de  big  black  man  locked  de  do'  behin'  us. 
An'  so  we  kep'  on,  goin'  down,  an'  goin'  down,  an' 
goin'  down,  an'  he  kep'  lockin'  dem  big  iron  do's 
behin'  us,  an'  all  de  time  it  was  pitch  dark,  so  I 
could  n't  see  him,  but  he  still  hel'  on  ter  me.  At 
las'  we  stopped,  an'  den  he  started  to  go  'way.  He 
locked  de  do'  behin'  him,  an'  I  heerd  him  goin'  up 
de  steps  de  way  we  come,  lockin'  all  de  do's  behin' 
him  as  he  went.  I  tell  you,  dat  was  dreafful  when 
I  heerd  dat  big  key  turn  on  de  outside,  an'  me  'way 
down,  down,  down  dar  in  de  dark  all  alone,  an' 
no  chance  eber  to  git  out!  An'  I  knowed  it  was 
'cause  I  didn't  foller  de  Lord.  I  felt  roun'  de 
place,  an'  dar  was  nothin'  but  de  thick  walls  an' 
de  great  iron  do'.  Den  I  sot  down  an'  cried, 
'cause  I  knowed  I  was  a  los'  man.  Dat  was  de 
same  as  hell  [his  voice  sinking  into  a  whisper],  an' 
all  de  time  I  knowed  I  was  dar,  'cause  I  had  n't 
follered  de  Lord.  Bymeby  somethin'  say,  "  Pray." 
Somethin'  keep  savin',  "Pray."  Den  I  drap  on 
my  knees  an'  prayed.  I  tell  you,  no  man  eber 
prayed  harder  'n  I  did !  I  prayed,  an'  prayed,  an' 
prayed !  What 's  dat  ?  Dar 's  somebody  a-comin' 
do\vn  dem  steps ;  dey  's  unlockin'  de  do' ;  an'  de  fus' 
thing  I  knowed,  de  place  was  all  lighted  up  bright 
as  day,  an'  a  white-faced  man  stood  by  me,  wid  a 


180  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

crown  on  his  head,  an'  a  golden  key  in  his  ban'. 
Somehow,  I  knowed  it  was  Jesus,  an'  right  den  I 
waked  up  all  of  a  tremble,  an'  knowed  it  was  a 
warnin'  dat  I  mus'  foller  de  Lord.  An',  bless  Je- 
sus, I  has  been  follerin'  him  fifty  year  since  I  had 
dat  dream. 

In  his  prayers,  and  class-meeting  and  love-feast 
talks,  Uncle  Nolan  showed  a  depth  of  spiritual  in- 
sight truly  wonderful,  and  the  effects  of  these  talks 
were  frequently  electrical.  Many  a  time  have  I 
seen  the  Pine-street  brethren  and  sisters  rise  from 
their  knees,  at  the  close  of  one  of  his  prayers, 
melted  into  tears,  or  thrilled  to  religious  rapture, 
by  the  power  of  his  simple  faith,  and  the  vividness 
of  his  sanctified  imagination. 

He  held  to  his  pro-slavery  views  and  guarded 
his  own  freedom-papers  to  the  last;  and  when  he 
died,  in  1875,  the  last  colored  Southern  Methodist 
in  California. was  transferred  from  the  Church  mil- 
itant to  the  great  company  that  no  ma*n  can  num- 
ber, gathered  out  of  every  nation,  and  tribe,  and 
kindred,  on  the  earth. 


BUFFALO  JONES. 


THAT  is  what  the  boys  called  him.  His  real 
Christian  name  was  Zachariah.  The  way  he 
got  the  name  he  went  by  was  this :  He  was  a  Meth- 
odist, and  prayed  in  public.  He  was  excitable, 
and  his  lungs  were  of  extraordinary  power.  When 
fully  aroused,  his  voice  sounded,  it  was  said,  like 
the  bellowing  of  a  whole  herd  of  buffaloes.  It 
had  peculiar  reverberations — rumbling,  roaring, 
shaking  the  very  roof  of  the  sanctuary,  or  echoing 
among  the  hills  when  let  out  at  its  utmost  strength 
at  a  camp-meeting.  This  is  why  they  called  him 
Buffalo  Jones.  It  was  his  voice.  There  never 
was  such  another.  In  Ohio  he  was  a  blacksmith 
and  a  fighting  man.  He  had  whipped  every  man 
who  would  fight  him,  in  a  whole  tier  of  counties. 
He  was  converted  after  the  old  way ;  that  is  to  say, 
he  was  "powerfully"  converted.  A  circuit-rider 
preached  the  sermon  that  converted  him.  His  an- 
guish was  awful.  The  midnight  hour  found  him 

(181) 


182  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

in  tears.  The  Ohio  forest  resounded  with  his  cries 
for  mercy.  When  he  found  peace,  it  swelled  into 
rapture.  He  joined  the  Church  militant  among 
the  Methodists,  and  he  stuck  to  them,  quarreled 
with  them,  and  loved  them,  all  his  life.  He  had 
many  troubles,  and  gave  much  trouble  to  many 
people.  The  old  Adam  died  hard  in  the  fighting 
blacksmith.  His  pastor,  his  family,  his  friends, 
his  fellow-members  in  the  Church,  all  got  a  portion 
of  his  wrath  in  due  season,  if  they  swerved  a 
hair-breadth  from  the  straight-line  of  duty  as  he 
saw  it.  I  was  his  pastor,  and  I  never  had  a  truer 
friend,  or  a  severer  censor.  One  Sunday  morning 
he  electrified  my  congregation,  at  the  close  of  the 
sermon,  by  rising  in  his  place  and  making  a  per- 
sonal application  of  a  portion  of  it  to  individuals 
present,  and  insisting  on  their  immediate  expulsion 
from  the  Church.  He  had  another  side  to  his 
character,  and  at  times  was  as  tender  as  a  woman, 
He  acted  as  class-leader.  In  his  melting  moods 
he  moved  every  eye  to  tears,  as  he  passed  round 
among  the  brethren  and  sisters,  weeping,  exhort- 
ing, and  rejoicing.  At  such  times,  his  great  voice 
softened  into  a  pathos  that  none  could  resist,  and 
swept  the  chords  of  sympathy  with  resistless  power. 
But  when  his  other  mood  was 'upon  him,  he  was 
fearful.  He  scourged  the  unfaithful  with  a  whip 
of  fire.  He  would  quote  with  a  singular  fluency 


BUFFALO  JONES,  183 

and  aptness  every  passage  of  Scripture  that  blast- 
ed hypocrites,  reproved  the  lukewarm,  or  threat- 
ened damnation  to  the  sinner.  At  such  times  his 
voice  sounded  like  the  shout  of  a  warrior  in  battle, 
and  the  timid  and  wondering  hearers  looked  as  if 
they  were  in  the  midst  of  the  thunder  and  light- 
ning of  a  tropical  storm.  I  remember  the  shock 
he  gave  a  quiet  and  timid  lady  whom  I  had  per- 
suaded to  remain  for  the  class-meeting  after  serv- 
ice. Fixing  his  stern  and  fiery  gaze  upon  her,  and 
knitting  his  great  bushy  eyebrows,  he  thundered 
the  question : 

"Sister,  do  you   ever  pray?" 

The  startled  woman  nearly  sprang  from  her  seat 
in  a  panic  as  she  stammered  hurriedly, 

"Yes,  sir;  yes,  sir." 

She  did  not  attend  his  class-meeting  again. 

At  a  camp-meeting  he  was  present,  and  in  one 
of  his  bitterest  moods.  The  meeting  was  not  con- 
ducted in  a  way  to  suit  him.  He  was  grim,  crit- 
ical, and  Contemptuous,  making  no  concealment  of 
his  dissatisfaction.  The  preaching  displeased  him 
particularly.  He  groaned,  frowned,  and  in  other 
ways  showed  his  feelings.  At  length  he  could 
stand  it  no  longer.  A  young  brother  had  just 
closed  a  sermon  of  a  mild  and  persuasive  kind, 
and  no  sooner  had  he  taken  his  seat  than  the  old 
man  arose.  Looking  forth  upon  the  vast  audience, 


184  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

and  then  casting  a  sharp  and  scornful  glance  at 
the  preachers  in  and  around  "the  stand,"  he 
said : 

"  You  preachers  of  these  days  have  510  gospel  in 
you.  You  remind  me  of  a  man  going  into  his 
barn-yard  early  in  the  morning  to  feed  his  stock. 
He  has  a  basket  on  his  arm,  and  here  come  the 
horses  nickering,  the  cows  lowing,  the  calves  and 
sheep  bleating,  the  hogs  squealing,  the  turkeys 
gobbling,  the  hens  clucking,  and  the  roosters  crow- 
ing. They  all  gather  round  him,  expecting  to  be 
fed,  and  lo,  his  basket  is  empty !  You  take  texts, 
and  you  preach,  but  you  have  no  gospel,  Your 
baskets  are  empty.'7 

Here  he  darted  a  defiant  glance  at  the  astonished 
preachers,  and  then,  turning  to  one,  he  added  in  a 
milder  and  patronizing  tone: 

"  You,  Brother  Sim,  do  preach  a  little  gospel — - 
in  your  basket  there  is  one  little  nubbin!" 

Down  he  sat,  leaving  the  brethren  to  meditate 
on  what  he  had  said.  The  silence  that  followed 
was  deep. 

At  one  time  his  conscience  became  troubled 
about  the  use  of  tobacco,  and  he  determined  to 
quit.  This  was  the  second  great  struggle  of  his 
life.  He  was  running  a  saw-mill  in  the  foot-hills 
at  the  time,  and  lodged  in  a  little  cabin  near  by. 
Suddenly  deprived  of  the  stimulant  to  which  it 


BUFFALO  JONES.  185 

had  so  long  been  accustomed,  his  nervous  system 
was  wrought  up  to  a  pitch  of  frenzy.  He  would 
rush  from  the  cabin,  climb  along  the  hill-side,  run 
leaping  from  rock  to  rock,  now  and  then  scream- 
ing like  a  maniac.  Then  he  would  rush  back  to 
the  cabin,  seize  a  plug  of  tobacco,  smell  it,  rub  it 
against  his  lips,  and  away  he  would  go  again.  He 
smelt,  but  never  tasted  it  again. 

"  I  was  resolved  to  conquer,  and  by  the  grace 
of  God  I  did/'  he  said. 

That  was  a  great  victory  for  the  fighting  black- 
smith. 

When  a  melodeon  wras  introduced  into  the 
church,  he  was  sorely  grieved  and  furiously  angry. 
He  argued  against  it,  he  expostulated,  he  protest- 
ed, he  threatened,  he  staid  away  from  church. 
He  wrote«me  a  letter,  in  which  he  expressed  his 

feelings  thus: 

San  Jose,  1860. 

DEAR  BROTHER: — They  have  got  the  devil  into  the 
church  now!  Put  your  foot  on  its  tail  and  it  squeals. 

Z.  JONES. 

This  was  his  figurative  way  of  putting  it.  I  was 
told  that  he  had,  on  a  former  occasion,  dealt  with 
the  question  in  a  more  summary  way,  by  taking 
his  ax  and  splitting  a  melodeon  to  pieces. 

Neutrality  in  politics  was,  of  course,  impossible 
to  such  a  man.  In  the  civil  war  his  heart  was 


186  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

with  the  South.  He  gave  up  when  Stonewall 
Jackson  was  killed. 

"It  is  all  over — the  praying  man  is  gone,"  he 
said;  and  he  sobbed  like  a  child.  From  that  day 
he  had  no  hope  for  the  Confederacy,  though  once 
or  twice,  when  feeling  ran  high,  he  expressed  a 
readiness  to  use  carnal  weapons  in  defense  of  his 
political  principles.  For  all  his  opinions  on  the 
subject  he  found  support  from  the  Bible,  which  he 
read  and  studied  with  unwearying  diligence.  He 
took  its  words  literally  on  all  occasions,  and  the 
Old  Testament  history  had  a  wonderful  charm  for 
him.  He  would  have  been  ready  to  hew  any  mod- 
ern Agag  in  pieces  before  the  Lord. 

He  finally  found  his  way  to  the  Insane  Asylum. 
The  reader  has  already  seen  how  abnormal  was 
his  mind,  and  will  not  be  surprised  that  Jiis  storm- 
tossed  soul  lost  its  rudder  at  last.  But  mid  all  its 
veerings  he  never  lost  sight  of  the  Star  that  had 
shed  its  light  upon  his  checkered  path  of  life.  He 
raved,  and  prayed,  and  wept,  by  turns.  The  hor- 
rors of  mental  despair  would  be  followed  by  gleams 
of  seraphic  joy.  When  one  of  his  stormy  moods 
wyas  upon  him,  his  mighty  voice  could  be  heard 
above  all  the  sounds  of  that  sad  and  pitiful  com- 
pany of  broken  and  wrecked  souls.  The  old  class- 
meeting  instinct  and  habit  showed  itself  in  his 
semi-lucid  intervals.  He  would  go  round  among 


BUFFALO  JONES.  187 

the  patients  questioning  them  as  to  their  religious 
feeling  and  behavior  in  true  class-meeting  style. 
Dr.  Shurtleff  one  day  overheard  a  colloquy  be- 
tween him  and  Dr.  Rogers,  a  free-thinker  and 
reformer,  whose  vagaries  had  culminated  in  his 
shaving  close  one  side  of  his  immense  whiskers, 
leaving  the  other  side  in  all  its  flowing  amplitude. 
Poor  fellow !  Pitiable  as  was  his  case,  he  made  a 
ludicrous  figure  walking  the  streets  of  San  Fran- 
cisco half  shaved,  and  defiant  of  the  wonder  and 
ridicule  he  excited.  The  ex  -  class  -  leader's  voice 
was  earnest  and  loud,  as  he  said  : 

"Now,  Rogers,  you  must  pray.  If  you  will  get 
down  at  the  feet  of  Jesus,  and  confess  your  sins, 
and  ask  him  to  bless  you,  he  will  hear  you,  and 
give  you  peace.  But  if  you  won't  do  it,"  he  con- 
tinued, with  growing  excitement  and  kindling 
anger  at  the  thought,  "  you  are  the  most  infernal 
rascal  that  ever  lived,  and  I  '11  beat  you  into  a 
jelly!" 

The  good  Doctor  had  to  interfere  at  this  point, 
for  the  old  man  was  in  the  very  act  of  carrying 
out  his  threat  to  punish  Rogers  bodily,  on  the  bare 
possibility  that  he  would  not  pray  as  he  was  told 
to  do.  And  so  that  extemporized  class -meeting 
came  to  an  abrupt  end. 

"  Pray  with  me,"  he  said  to  me  the  last  time  I 
saw  him  at  the  Asylum.  Closing  the  door  of  the 


188 


CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 


little  private  office,  we  knelt  side  by  side,  and 
the  poor  old  sufferer,  bathed  in  tears,  and  docile  as 
a  little  child,  prayed  to  the  once  suffering,  once 
crucified,  but  risen  and  interceding  Jesus.  When 
he  arose  from  his  knees  his  eyes  were  wet,  and  his 
face  showed  that  there  was  a  great  calm  within. 
We  never  met  again.  He  went  home  to  die.  The 
storms  that  had  swept  his  soul  subsided,  the  light 
of  reason  was  rekindled,  and  the  light  of  faith 
burned  brightly;  and  in  a  few  weeks  he  died  in 
great  peace,  and  another  glad  voice  joined  in  the 
anthems  of  the  blood-washed  millions  in  the  city 
of  God. 


TOD  ROBINSON. 


THE  image  of  this  man  of  many  moods  and 
brilliant  genius  that  rises  most  distinctly  to 
my  mind  is  that  connected  with  a  little  prayer- 
meeting  in  the  Minna-street  Church,  San  Francis- 
co, one  Thursday  night.  His  thin  silver  locks,  his 
dark  flashing  eye,  his  graceful  pose,  and  his  musical 
voice,  are  before  me.  His  words  I  have  not  for- 
gotten, but  their  electric  effect  must  forever  be  lost 
to  all  except  the  few  who  heard  them. 

"I  have  been  taunted  with  the  reproach  that  it 
was  only  after  I  was  a  broken  and  disappointed 
man  in  my  worldly  hopes  and  aspirations  that  I 
turned  to  religion.  The  taunt  is  just" — here  he 
bowed  his  head,  and  paused  with  deep  emotion — 
"the  taunt  is  just.  I  bow  my  head  in  shame,  and 
take  the  blow.  My  earthly  hopes  have  faded  arid 
fallen  one  after  another.  The  prizes  that  dazzled 
my  imagination  have  eluded  my  grasp.  I  am  a 
broken,  gray-haired  man,  and  I  bring  to  my  God 

(189) 


190  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

only  the  remnant  of  a  life.  But,  brethren,  it  is 
this  very  thought  that  fills  me  with  joy  and  grati- 
tude at  this  moment — the  thought  that  when  all 
else  fails  God  takes  us  up.  Just  when  we  need 
him  most,  and  most  feel  our  need  of  him,  he  lifts 
us  up  out  of  the  depths  where  we  had  groveled, 
and  presses  us  to  his  Fatherly  heart.  This  is  the 
glory  of  Christianity.  The  world  turns  from  us 
when  we  fail  and  fall ;  then  it  is  that  the  Lord 
draws  nigher.  Such  a  religion  must  be  from  God, 
for  its  principles  are  God-like.  It  does  not  require 
much  skill  or  power  to  steer  a  ship  into  port  when 
her  timbers  are  sound,  her  masts  all  rigged,  and 
her  crew  at  their  posts ;  but  the  pilot  that  can  take 
an  old  hulk,  rocking  on  the  stormy  waves,  with  its 
masts  torn  away,  its  rigging  gone,  its  planks  loose 
and  leaking,  and  bring  it  safe  to  harbor,  that  is 
the  pilot  for  me.  Brethren,  I  am  that  hulk;  and 
Jesus  is  that  Pilot!" 

"  Glory  be  to  Jesus ! "  exclaimed  Father  New- 
man, as  the  speaker,  with  swimming  eyes,  radiant 
face,  and  heaving  chest,  sunk  into  his  seat.  I 
never  heard  any  thing  finer  from  mortal  lips,  but 
it  seems  cold  to  me  as  I  read  it  here.  Oratory 
cannot  be  put  on  paper. 

He  was  present  once  at  a  camp-meeting,  at  the 
famous  Toll-gate  Camp -ground,  in  Santa  Clara 
Valley,  near  the  city  of  San  Jose.  It  was  Sabbath 


TOD  ROBINSON.  191 

morning,  just  such  a  one  as  seldom  dawns  on  this 
earth.  The  brethren  and  sisters  were  gathered 
around  "the  stand"  under  the  live-oaks  for  a  speak- 
ing-meeting. The  morning  glory  was  on  the  sum- 
mits of  the  Santa  Cruz  Mountains  that  sloped  down 
to  the  sacred  spot,  the  lovely  valley  smiled  under 
a  sapphire  sky,  the  birds  hopped  from  twig  to  twig 
of  the  overhanging  branches  that  scarcely  quiv- 
ered in  the  still  air,  and  seemed  to  peer  inquiringly 
into  the  faces  of  the  assembled  worshipers.  The 
bugle-voice  of  Bailey  led  in  a  holy  song,  and  Sim- 
mons led  in  prayer  that  touched  the  eternal  throne. 
One  after  another,  gray-haired  men  and  saintly 
women, told  when  and  how  they  began  the  new  life 
far  away  on  the  old  hills  they  would  never  see 
again,  and  how  they  had  been  led  and  comforted 
in  their  pilgrimage.  Young  disciples,  in  the  flush 
of  their  first  love,  and  the  rapture  of  new-born 
hope,  were  borne  out  on  a  tide  of  resistless  feeling 
into  that  ocean  whose  waters  encircle  the  universe. 
The  radiance  from  the  heavenly  hills  was  reflected 
from  the  consecrated  encampment,  and  the  angels 
of  God  hovered  over  the  spot.  Judge  Robinson 
rose  to  his  feet,  and  stepped  into  the  altar,  the  sun- 
light at  that  moment  falling  upon  his  face.  Every 
voice  was  hushed,  as,  with  the  orator's  indefinable 
magnetism,  he  drew  every  eye  upon  him.  The 
pause  was  thrilling.  At  length  he  spoke: 


192  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

"  This  is  a  mount  of  transfiguration.  The  trans- 
figuration is  on  hill  and  valley,  on  tree  and  shrub, 
on  grass  and  flower,  on  earth  and  sky.  It  is  on 
your  faces  that  shine  like  the  face  of  Moses  when 
he  came  down  from  the  awful  mount  where  he  met 
Jehovah  face  to  face.  The  same  light  is  on  your 
faces,  for  here  is  God's  shekinah.  This  is  the  gate 
of  heaven.  I  see  its  shining  hosts,  I  hear  the  mel- 
ody of  its  songs.  The  angels  of  God  encamped 
with  us  last  night,  and  they  linger  with  us  this 
morning.  Tarry  with  us,  ye  sinless  ones,  for  this 
is  heaven  on  earth ! " 

He  paused,  with  extended  arm,  gazing  upward  en- 
tranced. The  scene  that  followed  beggars  descrip- 
tion. By  a  simultaneous  impulse  all  rose  to  their 
feet  and  pressed  toward  the  speaker  with  awe-struck 
faces,  and  when  Grandmother  Rucker,  the  matri- 
arch of  the  valley,  with  luminous  face  and  uplifted 
eyes,  broke  into  a  shout,  it  swelled  into  a  melodious 
hurricane  that  shook  the  very  hills.  He  ought  to 
have  been  a  preacher.  So  he  said  to  me  once: 

"I  felt  the  impulse  and  heard  the  call  in  my 
early  manhood.  I  conferred  with  flesh  and  blood, 
and  was  disobedient  to  the  heavenly  vision.  I 
have  had  some  little  success  at  the  bar,  on  the 
hustings,  and  in  legislative  halls,  but  how  paltry 
has  it  been  in  comparison  with  the  true  life  and 
high  career  that  might  have  been  mine!" 


TOD  ROBINSON.  193 

He  was  from  the  hill-country  of  North  Carolina, 
and  its  flavor  clung  to  him  to  the  last.  He  had 
his  gloomy  moods,  but  his  heart  was  fresh  as  a 
Blue  Kidge  breeze  in  May,  and  his  wit  bubbled 
forth  like  a  mountain-spring.  There  \vas  no  bit- 
terness in  his  satire.  The  very  victim  of  his  thrust 
enjoyed  the  keenness  of  the  stroke,  for  there  was 
no  poison  in  the  weapon.  At  times  he  seemed  in- 
spired, and  you  thrilled,  melted,  and  soared,  under 
the  touches  of  this  Western  Coleridge.  He  came 
to  my  room  at  the  Golden  Eagle,  in  Sacramento 
City,  one  night,  and  left  at  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  He  walked  the  floor  and  talked,  and  it 
was  the  grandest  monologue  I  ever  listened  to. 
One  part  of  it  I  could  not  forget.  It  was  with 
reference  to  preachers  who  turn  aside  from  their 
holy  calling  to  engage  in  secular  pursuits,  or  in 
politics. 

"It  is  turning  away  from  angels'  food  to  feed  on 
garbage.  Think  of  spending  a  whole  life  in  con- 
templating the  grandest  things,  and  working  for  the 
most  glorious  ends,  instructing  the  ignorant,  con- 
soling the  sorrowing,  winning  the  wayward  back 
to  duty  and  to  peace,  pointing  the  dying  to  Him 
who  is  the  light  and  the  life  of  men,  animating  the 
living  to  seek  from  the  highest  motives  a  holy  life 
and  a  sublime  destiny!  O  it  is  a  life  that  might 
draw  an  angel  from  the  skies !  If  there  is  a  spe- 
13 


194  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

cial  hell  for  fools,  it  should  be  kept  for  the  man 
who  turns  aside  from  a  life  like  this,  to  trade,  or 
dig  the  earth,  or  wrangle  in  a  court  of  law,  or 
scramble  for  an  office." 

He  looked  at  me  as  he  spoke,  with  flashing  eyes 
and  curled  lip. 

"That  is  all  true  and  very  fine,  Judge,  but  it 
sounds  just  a  little  peculiar  as  coming  from  you." 

"I  am  the  very  man  to  say  it,  for  I  am  the  man 
who  bitterly  sees  its  truth.  Do  not  make  the  mis- 
step that  I  did.  A  man  might  well  be  willing  to 
live  on  bread  and  water,  and  walk  the  world  afoot, 
for  the  privilege  of  giving  all  his  thoughts  to  the 
grandest  themes,  and  all  his  service  to  the  highest 
objects.  As  a  lawyer,  my  life  has  been  spent  in  a 
prolonged  quarrel  about  money,  land,  houses,  cat- 
tle, thieving,  slandering,  murdering,  and  other  vil- 
lainy. The  little  episodes  of  politics  that  have 
given  variety  to  my  career  have  oidy  shown  me 
the  baseness  of  human  nature,  and  the  pettiness 
of  human  ambition.  There  are  men  who  will  fill 
these  places  and  do  this  work,  and  who  want  and 
will  choose  nothing  better.  Let  them  have  all  the 
good  they  can  get  out  of  such  things.  But  the 
minister  of  the  gospel  who  comes  down  from  the 
height  of  his  high  calling  to  engage  in  this  scram- 
ble does  that  which  makes  devils  laugh  and  angels 
weep." 


TOD  ROBINSON.  195 

This  was  the  substance  of  what  he  said  on  this 
point.  I  have  never  forgotten  it.  I  am  glad  he 
came  to  my  room  that  night.  What  else  he  said 
I  cannot  write,  but  the  remembrance  of  it  is  like 
to  that  of  a  melody  that  lingers  in  my  soul  when 
the  music  has  ceased. 

"I  thank  you  for  your  sermon  to-day — you  never 
told  a  single  lie." 

This  was  his  remark  at  the  close  of  a  service  io 
Minna  street  one  Sunday. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  that  remark?" 

"That  the  exaggerations  of  the  pulpit  repel 
thousands  from  the  -truth.  Moderation  of  state- 
ment is  a  rare  excellence.  A  deep  spiritual  in- 
sight enables  a  religious  teacher  to  shade  his  mean- 
ings where  it  is  required.  Deep  piety  is  genius 
for  the  pulpit.  Mediocrity  in  native  endowments, 
conjoined  with  spiritual  stolidity  in  the  pulpit,  does 
more  harm  than  all  the  open  apostles  of  infidelity 
combined.  They  take  the  divinity  out  of  religion 
and  kill  the  faith  of  those  who  hear  them.  None 
but  inspired  men  should  stand  in  the  pulpit.  Ke- 
ligion  is  not  in  the  intellect  merely.  The  world 
by  wisdom  cannot  know  God,  The  attempt  to  liiul 
out  God  by  the  intellect  has  always  been,  and  al- 
ways must  be,  the  completest  of  failures.  R< Jig- 
ion  is  the  sphere  of  the  supernatural,  and  stands 
not  in  the  wisdom  of  men,  but  in  the  power  of 


196  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

God.  It  has  often  happened  that  men  of  the  first 
order  of  talent  and  the  highest  culture  have  been 
converted  by  the  preaching  of  men  of  weak  intellect 
and  limited  education,  but  who  were  directly  taught 
of  God,  and  had  drunk  deep  from  the  fount  of  living 
truth  in  personal  experience  of  the  blessed  power 
of  Christian  faith.  It  was  through  the  intellect  that 
the  devil  seduced  the  first  pair.  When  we  rest  in 
the  intellect  only,  we  miss  God.  With  the  heart 
only  can  man  believe  unto  righteousness.  The 
evidence  that  satisfies  is  based  on  consciousness. 
Consciousness  is  the  satisfying  demonstration. 

"Eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,  neither  have 
entered  into  the  heart  of  man,  the  things  which  God 
hath  prepared  for  them  that  love  him.  But  God 
hath  revealed  them  unto  us  by  his  Spirit.  They  can 
be  revealed  in  no  other  way." 

Here  was  the  secret  he  had  learned,  and  that 
had  brought  a  new  joy  and  glory  into  his  life  as  it 
neared  the  sunset.  The  great  change  dated  from 
a  dark  and  rainy  night  as  he  walked  home  in  Sac- 
ramento City.  Not  more  tangible  to  Saul  of  Tar- 
sus was  the  vision,  or  more  distinctly  audible  the 
voice  that  spoke  to  him  on  the  way  to  Damascus, 
than  was  the  revelation  of  Jesus  Christ  to  this 
lawyer  of  penetrating  intellect,  large  and  varied 
reading,  and  sharp  perception  of  human  folly  and 
weakness.  It  was  a  case  of  conversion  in  the  full- 


TOD  ROBINSON.  197 

est  and  divinest  sense.  He  never  fell  from  the 
wonder- world  of  grace  to  which  he  had  been  lifted. 
His  youth  seemed  to  be  renewed,  and  his  life  had 
rebloomed,  and  its  winter  was  turned  into  spring, 
under  the  touch  of  Him  who  maketh  all  things 
new.  He  was  a  new  man,  and  he  lived  in  a  new 
world.  He  ;iever  failed  to  attend  the  class-meet- 
ings, and  in  his  talks  there  the  flashes  of  his  genius 
set  religious  truths  in  new  lights,  and  the  little 
band  of  Methodists  were  treated  to  bursts  of  fervid 
eloquence,  such  as  might  kindle  the  listening  thou- 
sands of  metropolitan  churches  into  admiration, 
or  melt  them  into  tears.  On  such  occasions  I  could 
not  help  regretting  anew  that  the  world  had  lost 
what  this  man  might  have  wrought  had  his  path 
in  life  taken  a  different  direction  at  the  start.  He 
died  suddenly,  and  when  in  the  city  of  Los  Ange- 
les I  read  the  telegram  announcing  his  death,  I 
felt,  mingled  with  the  pain  at  the  loss  of  a  friend, 
exultation  that  before  there  was  any  reaction  in 
his  religious  life  his  mighty  soul  had  found  a  con- 
genial home  amid  the  supernal  glories  and  sublime 
joys  of  the  world  of  spirits.  The  moral  of  this 
man's  life  will  be  seen  by  him  for  whom  this  im- 
perfect Sketch  has  been  penciled. 


AH  LEE. 


HE  was  the  sunniest  of  Mongolians.  The 
Chinaman,  under  favorable  conditions,  is 
not  without  a  sly  sense  of  humor  of  his  peculiar 
sort;  but  to  American  eyes  there  is  nothing  very 
pleasant  in  his  angular  and  smileless  features. 
The  manner  of  his  contact  with  many  Californians 
is  not  calculated  to  evoke  mirthfulness.  The  brick- 
bat may  be  a  good  political  argument  in  the  hands 
of  a  hoodlum,  but  it  does  not  make  its  target  play- 
ful. To  the  Chinaman  in  America  the  situation 
is  new  and  grave,  and  he  looks  sober  and  holds  his 
peace.  Even  the  funny -looking,  be -cued  little 
Chinese  children  wear  a  look  of  solemn  inquisitive- 
ness,  as  they  toddle  along  the  streets  of  San  Fran- 
cisco by  the  side  of  their  queer-looking  mothers. 
In  his  own  land,  over-populated  and  misgoverned, 
the  Chinaman  has  a  hard  fight  for  existence.  In 
these  United  States  his  advent  is  regarded  some- 
what in  the  same  spi4t  as  that  of  the  seventeen- 
(198) 


AH  LEE.  199 

year  locusts,  or  the  cotton-worm.  The  history  of 
a  people  may  be  read  in  their  physiognomy.  The 
monotony  of  Chinese  life  during  these  thousands 
of  years  is  reflected  in  the  dull,  monotonous  faces 
of  Chinamen. 

Ah  Lee  was  an  exception.  His  skin  was  almost 
fair,  his  features  almost  Caucasian  in  their  regu- 
larity; his  dark  eye  lighted  up  with  a  peculiar 
brightness,  and  there  was  a  remarkable  buoyancy 
and  glow  about  him  every  way.  He  was  about 
twenty  years  old.  How  long  he  had  been  in  Cali- 
fornia I  know  not.  When  he  came  into  my  office 
to  see  me  the  first  time,  he  rushed  forward  and  im- 
pulsively grasped  my  hand-,  saying: 

"My  name  Ah  Lee— you  Doctor  Plitzjellie?" 

That  was  the  way  my  name  sounded  as  he  spoke 
it.  I  was  glad  to  see  him,  and  told  him  so. 

"You  makee  Christian  newspaper?  You  talkee 
Jesus?  Mr.  Taylor  tellee  me.  Me  Christian — me 
love  Jesus." 

Yes,  Ah  Lee  was  a  Christian ;  there  could  be  no 
doubt  about  that.  I  have  seen  many  happy  con- 
verts, but  none  happier  than  he.  He  was  not 
merely  happy — he  was  ecstatic. 

The  story  of  the  mighty  change  was  a  simple 
one,  but  thrilling.  Near  Vacaville,  the  former 
seat  of  the  Pacific  Methodist  College,  in  Solan  a 
county,  lived  the  Rev.  Try  Taylor,  a  member  of 


200  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

the  Pacific  Conference  of  the  Methodist  Episcopal 
Church,  South.  Mr.  Taylor  was  a  praying  man, 
and  he  had  a  praying  wife.  Ah  Lee  was  employed 
as  a  domestic  in  the  family.  His  curiosity  was  first 
excited  in  regard  to  family  prayers.  He  wanted 
to  know7  what  it  all  meant.  The  Taylors  explained. 
The  old,  old  story  took  hold  of  Ah  Lee.  He  was 
put  to  thinking  and  then  to  praying.  The  idea  of 
the  forgiveness  of  sins  filled  him  with  wonder  and 
longing.  He  hung  with  breathless  interest  upon 
the  word  of  the  Lord,  opening  to  him  a  world  of 
new  thought.  The  tide  of  feeling  bore  him  on,  and 
at  the  foot  of  the  cross  he  found  what  he  sought. 

Ah  Lee  was  converted — converted  as  Paul,  as 
Augustine,  as  Wesley,  were  converted.  He  was 
born  into  a  new  life  that  was  as  real  to  him  as  his 
consciousness  was  real.  This  psychological  change 
will  be  understood  by  some  of  my  readers ;  others 
may  regard  it  as  they  do  any  other  inexplicable 
phenomenon  in  that  mysterious  inner  world  of  the 
human  soul,  in  which  are  lived  the  real  lives  of  us 
all.  In  Ah  Lee's  heathen  soul  was  wrought  the 
gracious  wonder  that  makes  joy  among  the  angels 
of  God. 

The  young  Chinese  disciple,  it  is  to  be  feared, 
got  little  sympathy  outside  the  Taylor  household 
and  a  few  others.  The  right-hand  of  Christian 
fellowship  was  withheld  by  many,  or  extended  in 


AH  LEE.  201 

a  cold,  half-reluctant  way.  But  it  mattered  not  to 
Ah  Lee ;  he  had  his  own  heaven.  Coldness  was 
wasted  on  him.  The  light  within  him  brightened 
every  thing  without. 

Ah  Lee  became  a  frequent  visitor  to  our  cottage 
on  the  hill.  He  always  came  and  went  rejoicing. 
The  Gospel  of  John  wras  his  daily  study  and  de- 
light. To  his  ardent  and  receptive  nature  it  was 
a  diamond  mine.  Two  things  he  wanted  to  do. 
lie  had  a  strong  desire  to  translate  his  favorite 
Gospel  into  Chinese,  and  to  lead  his  parents  to 
Christ.  When  he  spoke  of  his  father  and  mother 
his  voice  would  soften,  his  eyes  moisten  with  ten- 
derness. 

"I  go  back  to  China  and  tellee  my  fader  and 
mydder  allee  good  news,"  he  said,  with  beaming 
face. 

This  peculiar  development  of  filial  reverence 
and  aifection  among  the  Chinese  is  a  hopeful  feat- 
ure of  their  national  life.  It  furnishes  a  solid 
basis  for  a  strong  Christian  nation.  .  The  weaken- 
ing of  this  sentiment  weakens  religious  suscepti- 
bility; its  destruction  is  spiritual  death.  The 
worship  of  ancestors  is  idolatry,  but  it  is  that  form 
of  it  nearest  akin  to  the  worship  of  the  Heavenly 
Father.  The  honoring  of  the  father  and  mother 
on  earth  is  the  commandment  with  promise,  and  it 
is  the  promise  of  this  life  and  of  life  everlasting. 


202  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

There  is  an  interblending  of  human  and  divine 
loves;  earth  and  heaven  are  unitary  in  compan- 
ionship and  destiny.  The  golden  ladder  rests  on 
the  earth  and  reaches  up  into  the  heavens. 

About  twice  a  week  Ah  Lee  came  to  see  us  at 
North  Beach.  These  visits  subjected  our  courtesy 
and  tact  to  a  severe  test.  He  loved  little  children, 
and  at  each  visit  he  would  bring  with  him  a  gayly- 
painted  box  tilled  with  Chinese  sweetmeats.  Such 
sweetmeats !  They  were  too  strong  for  the  palates 
of  even  young  Californians.  What  cannot  be  rel- 
ished and  digested  by  a  healthy  California  boy  must 
be  formidable  indeed.  Those  sweetmeats  were — 
but  I  give  it  up,  they  were  indescribable!  The 
boxes  were  pretty,  and,  after  being  emptied  of  their 
contents,  they  were  kept. 

Ah  Lee's  joy  in  his  new  experience  did  not 
abate.  Under  the  touch  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  his 
spiritual  nature  had  suddenly  blossomed  into  trop- 
ical luxuriance.  To  look  at  him  made  me  think 
of  the  second  chapter  of  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles. 
If  I  had  had  any  lingering  doubts  of  the  trans- 
forming power  of  the  gospel  upon  all  human 
hearts,  this  conversion  of  Ah  Lee  would  have  set- 
tled the  question  forever.  The  bitter  feeling  against 
the  Chinese  that  just  then  found  expression  in 
California,  through  so  many  channels,  did  not 
seem  to  affect  him  in  the  least.  He  had  his  Chris- 


AH  LEE.  203 

tianity  warm  from  the  heart  of  the  Son  of  God, 
and  no  caricature  of  its  features  or  perversion  of 
its  spirit  could  bewilder  him  for  a  moment.  He 
knew  whom  he  had  believed.  None  of  these  things 
moved  him.  O  blessed  mystery  of  God's  mercy, 
that  turns  the  night  of  heathen  darkness  into  day, 
and  makes  the  desert  soul  bloom  with  the  flower? 
of  paradise !  O  cross  of  the  Crucified !  Lifted 
up,  it  shall  draw  all  men^to  their  Saviour!  And 

0  blind  and  slow  of  heart  to  believe!   why  could 
we  not  discern  that  this  young  Chinaman's  conver- 
sion was  our  Lord's  gracious  challenge  to  our  faith, 
and  the  pledge  of  success  to  the  Church  that  will 
go  into  all  the  world  with  the  news  of  salvation? 

Ah  Lee  has  vanished  from  my  observation,  but 

1  have  a  persuasion  that  is  like  a  burning  proph- 
ecy that  he  will  be  heard  from  again.     To  me  he 
types  the  blessedness  of  old  China  new-born  in  the 
life  of  the  Lord,  and  in  his  luminous  face  I  read 
the  prophecy  of  the  redemption  of  the  millions 
who  have  so  long  bowed  before  the  Great  Red 
Dragon,  but  who  now  wait  for  the  coming  of  the 
Deliverer. 


THE  CLIMATE  OF  CALIFOKNIA. 


HAD  Shakespeare  lived  in  California,  he 
would  not  have  written  of  the  "winter  of 
our  discontent,'7  but  would  most  probably  have 
found  in  the  summer  of  that  then  undiscovered 
country  a  more  fitting  symbol  of  the  troublous 
times  referred  to;  for,  with  the  fogs,  winds,  and 
dust,  that  accompany  the  summer,  or  the  "dry 
season,"  as  it  is  more  appropriately  called  in  Cali- 
fornia, it  is  emphatically  a  season  of  discontent. 
In  the  mountains  of  the  State  only  are  these  con- 
ditions not  found.  True,  you  will  find  dust  even 
there  as  the  n'atural  consequence  of  the  lack  of 
rain ;  but  that  is  not,  of  course,  so  bad  in  the 
mountains;  and  with  no  persistent,  nagging  wind 
to  pick  it  up  and  fling  it  spitefully  at  you,  you  soon 
get  not  to  mind  it  at  all.  But  of  summer  in  the 
coast  country  it  is  hard  to  speak  tolerarjtly.  The 
perfect  flower  of  its  unloveliness  flourishes  in  San. 
Francisco,  and,  more  or  less  hardily,  all  along  the 
(204) 


THE  CLIMATE  OF  CALIFORNIA.        205 

coast.  From  the  time  the  rains  cease — generally 
some  time  in  May— through  the  six-months'  period 
of  their  cessation,  the  programme  for  the  day  is, 
with  but  few  exceptions,  unvaried.  Fog  in  the 
morning — chilling,  penetrating  fog,  which  obscures 
the  rays  of  the  morning  sun  completely,  and,  dank 
and  "clinging  like  cerements,"  swathes  every  thing 
with  its  soft,  gray  folds.  On  the  bay  it  hangs, 
heavy  and  chill,  blotting  out  every  thing  but  the 
nearest  objects,  and  at  a  little  distance  hardly  dis- 
tinguishable from  the  water  itself.  At  such  times 
is  heard  the  warning-cry  of  the  fog-horns  at  Fort 
Point,  Goat  Island,  and  elsewhere — a  sound  which 
probably  is  more  like  that  popularly  supposed  to 
be  produced  by  an  expiring  cow  in  her  last  agony 
than  any  thing  else,  but  which  is  not  like  that  or 
any  thing  in  the  world  but  a  fog-horn.  The  fog 
of  the  morning,  however,  gives  way  to  the  wind  of 
the  afternoon,  which,  complete  master  of  the  situ- 
ation by  three  o'clock  P.M.,  holds  stormy  sway  till 
sunset.  No  gentle  zephyr  this,  to  softly  sway  the 
delicate  flower  or  just  lift  the  fringe  on  the  maid- 
en's brow,  but  what  seamen  call  a  "spanking 
breeze,"  that  does  not  hesitate  to  knock  off  the  hat 
that  is  not  fastened  tightly  both  fore  and  aft  to  the 
underlying  head,  or  to  fling  sand  and  dust  into 
any  exposed  eye,  and  which  dances  around  gen- 
erally among  skirts  and  coat-tails  with  untiring 


206  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

energy  and  persistency.  To  venture  out  on  the 
streets  of  San  Francisco  at  such  times  is  really  no 
trifling  matter ;  and  to  one  not  accustomed  to  it, 
or  to  one  of  a  non-combative  disposition,  the  per- 
formance is  not  a  pleasant  one.  Still  the  streets 
are  always  full  of  hurrying  passengers ;  for,  whether 
attributable  to  the  extra  amount  of  vitality  and 
vim  that  this  bracing  climate  imparts  to  its  chil- 
dren, or  to  a  more  direct  and  obvious  cause,  the 
desire  to  get  in-doors  again  as  soon  as  possible,  the 
fact  remains  the  same — that  the  people  of  Califor- 
nia walk  faster  than  do  those  of  almost  any  other 
country.  Not  only  men  either,  who  with  their 
coats  buttoned^up  to  their  chins,  and  hats  jammed 
tightly  over  their  half-shut  eyes,  present  a  tolera- 
bly secure  surface  to  the  attacks  of  the  wind,  but 
their  fairer  sisters  too  can  be  seen,  with  their  fresh 
cheeks  and  bright  eyes  protected  by  jaunty  veils, 
scudding  along  in  the  face  or  the  track  of  the 
wind,  as  the  case  may  be,  with  wonderful  skill  and 
grace,  looking  as  trim  and  secure  as  to  rigging  as 
the  lightest  schooner  in  full  sail  on  their  own  bay. 
But  it  is  after  the  sun  has  gone  down  from  the 
cloudless  sky,  and  the  sea  has  recalled  its  breezes 
to  slumber  for  the  night,  that  the  fulfillment  of  the 
law  of  compensation  is  made  evident  in  this  mat- 
ter. The  nights  are  of  silver,  if  the  days  be  not 
of  gold..  And  all  over  the  State  this  blessing  of 


THE  CLIMATE  OF  CALIFORNIA.        207 

cool,  comfortable  nights  is  spread.  At  any  season, 
one  can  draw  a  pair  of  blankets  over  him  upon  re- 
tiring, sure  of  sound,  refreshing  slumber,  unless  a?~ 
sailed  by  mental  or  physical  troubles  to  which  ever 
this  glorious  climate  of  California  cannot  minister. 
The  country  here  during  this  rainless  season 
does  not  seem  to  the  Eastern  visitor  enough  like 
what  he  has  known  as  country  in  the  summer  tc 
warrant  any  outlay  in  getting  there.  He  must, 
however,  understand  that  here  people  go  to  the 
country  for  precisely  opposite  reasons  to  those 
which  influence  Easternxtourists  to  leave  the  city 
and  betake  themselves  to  rural  districts.  In  the 
East,  one  leaves  the  crowded  streets  and  heated 
atmosphere  of  the  great  city  to  seek  coolness  in 
some  sylvan  retreat.  Here,  we  leave  the  chilling 
winds  and  fogs  of  the  ci^  to  try  to  get  warm 
where  they  cannot  penetrate.  Warm  it  may  be; 
but  the  country  at  this  season  is  not  at  its  best  a? 
to  looks.  The  flowers  and  the  grass  have  disap- 
peared with  the  rains,  the  latter,  however,  keeping 
in  its  dry,  brown  roots,  that  the  sun  scorches  daily, 
the  germ  of  all  next  winter's  green.  Of  the  trees, 
the  live-oak  alone  keeps  to  the  summer  livery  of 
Eastern  forests.  Farther  up  in  the  mountain  coun- 
ties, it  is  very  different.  No  fairer  summer  <eould 
be  wished  for  than  that  which  reigns  cloudless 
here;  and  with  the  sparkling  champagne  of  that 


208  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

clear,  dry  air  in  his  nostrils,  our  Eastern  visitor 
forgets  even  to  sigh  for  a  summer  shower  to  lay 
the  dreadful  dust.  And  even  in  the  valleys  and 
around  the  bay,  we  must  confess  that  some  advan- 
tages arise  from  the  no-rain-for-six-months  policy. 
Picnickers  can  set  forth  any  day,  with  no  fear  of 
the  fun  of  the  occasion  being  wet-blanketed  by  an 
unlooked-for  shower ;  and  farmers  can  dispose  of 
their  crops  according  to  convenience,  often  leaving 
their  wheat  piled  up  in  the  field,  with  no  fear  of 
danger  from  the  elements. 

Still  we  do  get  very  tired  of  this  long,  strange  sum- 
mer, and  the  first  rains  are  eagerly  looked  for  and 
joyously  welcomed.  The  fall  of  the  first  showers 
after  such  a  long  season  of  bareness  and  brown- 
ness  is  almost  afs  immediate  in  its  effects  as  the 
waving  of  a  fairy's  magic  wand  over  Cinderella, 
sitting  ragged  in  the  ashes  and  cinders.  The 
change  thus  wrought  is  well  described  by  a  poet 
of  the  soil  in  a  few  picturesque  lines : 

Week  by  week  the  near  hills  whitened, 
In  their  dusty  leather  cloaks  ; 

Week  by  week  the  far  hills  darkened, 
From  the  fringing  plain  of  oaks; 

Till  the  rains  came,  and  far  breaking, 
On  the  fierce  south-wester  tost, 

Dashed  the  whole  long  coast  with  color, 
And  then  vanished  and  were  lost. 


THE  CLIMATE  OF  CALIFORNIA.        209 

With  these  rains  the  grass  springs  up,  the  trees 
put  out,  and  the  winds  disappear,  leaving  in  the 
air  a  wonderful  softness.  In  a  month  or  two  the 
flowers  appear,  and  the  hills  are  covered  with  a 
mantle  of  glory.  Bluebells,  lupins,  buttercups, 
and  hosts  of  other  blossoms,  spring  up  in  profu- 
sion ;  and,  illuminating  every  thing,  the  wild  Cali- 
fornia poppy  lifts  its  flaming  torch,  typifying  well, 
in  its  dazzling  and  glowing  color,  the  brilliant 
minds  and  passionate  hearts  of  the  people  of  this 
land.  All  these  bloom  on  through  the  winter,  for 
this  is  a  winter  but  in  name.  With  no  frost,  ice, 
or  snow,  it  is  more  like  an  Eastern  spring,  but  for 
the  absence  of  that  feeling  of  languor  and  debility 
which  is  so  often  felt  in  that  season.  True  it-rains 
a  good  deal,  but  by  no  means  constantly,  more 
often  in  the  night ;  and  it  is  this  season  of  smiles 
and  tears,  this  winter  of  flowers  and  budding  trees, 
in  which  the  glory  of  the  California  climate  lies. 
Certainly  nothing  could  be  more  perfect  than  a 
bright  winter  day  in  that  State,  Still,  after  all  I 
could  say  in  its  praise,  you  would  not  know  its  full 
charm  till  you  had  felt  its  delicious  breath  on  your 
own  brow;  for  the  peculiar  freshness  and  exhilara- 
tion of  the  air  are  indescribable. 

Sometimes  in  March,  the  dwellers  on  the  bay 
arc  treated  to  a  blow  or  two  from  the  north,  which 
is  about  as  serious  weather  as  the  inhabitant  of  that 
14 


210  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

favored  clime  ever  experiences.  After  a  night 
whose  sleep  has  been  broken  by  shrieks  of  the 
wind  and  the  rattling  of  doors  and  windows,  I  wake 
with  a  dullness  of  head  and  sensitiveness  of  nerve 
that  alone  would  be  sufficient  to  tell  me  that  the 
north  wind  had  risen  like  a  thief  in  the  night,  and 
had  not,  according  to  the  manner  of  that  class, 
stolen  away  before  morning.  On  the  contrary,  he 
seems  to  be  rushing  around  with  an  energy  that 
betokens  a  day  of  it,  I  dress,  and  look  out  of  my 
window.  The  bay  is  a  mass  of  foaming,  tossing 
wraves,  which,  as  they  break  on  the  beach  just  be- 
low,  cast  their  spray  twenty  feet  in  air.  All  the 
little  vessels  have  come  into  port,  and  only  a  few 
of  the  largest  ships  still  ride  heavily  at  their  an- 
chors. The  line  separating  the  shallow  water  near 
the  shore  from  the  deeper  waters  beyond  is  much 
farther  out  than  usual,  and  is  more  distinct.  With- 
in its  boundary,  the  predominant  white  is  mixed 
with  a  dark,  reddish  brown;  without,  the  spots  of 
color  are  darkest  green.  The  sky  has  been  swept 
of  every  particle  of  cloud  and  moisture,  and  is  al- 
most painfully  blue.  Against  it,  Mounts  Tamal- 
pais  and  Diablo  stand  outlined  with  startling  clear- 
ness. The  hills  and  islands  round  the  bay  look  as 
cold  and  uncomfortable  in  their  robes  of  bright 
green  as  a  young  lady  who  has  put  on  her  spring- 
dress  too  soon.  The  streets  and  walks  are  swept 


THE  CLIMATE  OF  CALIFORNIA.        211 

hare,  but  still  the  air  is  filled  with  flying  sand  that 
cuts  my  face  like  needles,  when,  later,  overcoated 
and  gloved  to  the  utmost,  I  proceed  down-town. 
Such  days  are  Nature's  cleaning  days,  very  neces- 
sary to  future  health  and  comfort,  but,  like  all 
cleaning-days,  very  unpleasant  to  go  through  with. 
AVith  her  mightiest  besom  does  the  old  lady  sweep 
all  the  cobwebs  from  the  sky,  all  the  dirt  and 
germs  of  disease  from  the  ground,  and  remove 
all  specks  and  impurities  from  her  air -windows. 
One  or  two  such  "northers"  finish  up  the  season, 
effectually  scaring  away  all  the  clouds,  thus  clear- 
ing the  stage  for  the  next  act  in  this  annual  drama 
of  two  acts. 

This  climate  of  California  is  perfectly  epitomized 
in  a  stanza  of  the  same  poem  before  quoted: 

So  each  year  the  season  shifted, 
Wet  and  warm,  and  drear  and  dry, 

Half  a  year  of  cloud  and  flowers, 
Half  a  year  of  dust  and  sky. 


AFTER  THE  STOEM. 


(Penciled  in  the  bay-window  above  the  Golden  Gate,  North 
Beach,  San  Francisco,  February  20,  1873.) 

ALL  day  the  winds  the  sea  had  lashed, 
The  fretted  waves  in  anger  dashed 
Against  the  rocks  in  tumult  wild 
Above  the  surges  roughly  piled — 
No  blue  above,  no  peace  below, 
The  waves  still  rage,  the  winds  still  blow, 

Dull  and  muffled  the  sunset  gun 

Tells  that  the  dreary  day  is  done; 

The  sea-birds  fly  with  drooping  wing — 

Chill  and  shadow  on  every  thing — 

No  blue  above,  no  peace  below, 

The  waves  still  rage,  the  winds  still  blow, 

The  clouds  dispart;  the  sapphire  dye 
In  beauty  spreads  o'er  the  western  sky, 
Cloud-fires  blaze  o'er  the  Gate  of  Gold, 
Gleaming  and  glowing,  fold  on  fold — ' 
(212) 


AFTER  THE  STORM.  213 

All  blue  above,  all  peace  below, 

Nor  waves  now  rage,  nor  winds  now  blow. 

Souls  that  are  lashed  by  storms  of  pain, 
Eyes  that  drip  with  sorrow's  rain ; 
Hearts  that  burn  with  passion  strong, 
Bruised  and  torn,  and  weary  of  wrong — 
No  light  above,  no  peace  within, 
Battling  with  self,  and  torn  by  sin — 

Hope  on,  hold  on,  the  clouds  will  lift ; 
God's  peace  will  come  as  his  own  sweet  gift, 
The  light  will  shine  at  evening-time, 
The  reflected  beams  of  the  sunlit  clime, 
The  blessed  goal  of  the  soul's  long  quest, 
Where  storms  ne'er  beat,  and  all  are  blest. 


BISHOP  KAVANAUGH  IN  CALIFOKNIA. 


HE  came  first  in  1856.  The  Californians 
"took  to"  him  at  once.  It  was  almost  as 
good  as  a  visit  to  the  old  home  to  see  and  hear  this 
rosy-faced,  benignant,  and  solid  Kentuckian.  His 
power  and  pathos  in  the  pulpit  were  equaled  by 
his  humor  and  magnetic  charm  in  the  social  circle. 
Many  consciences  were  stirred.  All  hearts  were 
won  by  him,  and  he  holds  them  unto  this  day. 
We  may  hope  too  that  many  souls  were  won  that 
will  be  stars  in  his  crown  of  rejoicing  in  the  day 
of  Jesus  Christ. 

At  San  Jose,  his  quality  as  a  preacher  was  de- 
veloped by  an  incident  that  excited  no  little  popu- 
lar interest.  The  (Northern)  Methodist  Confer- 
ence was  in  session  at  that  place,  the  venerable 
and  saintly  Bishop  Scott  presiding.  Bishop  Kava- 
naugh  was  invited  to  preach,  and  it  so  happened 
that  he  was  to  do  so  on  the  night  following  an  ap- 
pointment for  Bishop  Scott.  The  matter  was  talked 
(214) 


BISHOP  KA  VANA  UGH  IN  CALIFORNIA.   215 

of  in  the  town,  and  not  unnaturally  a  spirit  of 
friendly  rivalry  was  excited  with  regard  to  the 
approaching  pulpit  performances  by  the  Northern 
and  Southern  Bishops  respectively.  One  enthu- 
siastic but  not  pious  Kentuckian  offered  to  bet  a 
hundred  dollars  that  Kavanaugh  would  preach 
the  better  sermon.  Of  course  the  two  venerable 
men  were  unconscious  of  all  this,  and  nothing 
of  the  kind  was  in  their  hearts.  The  church  was 
thronged  to  hear  Bishop  Scott,  and  his  humility, 
strong  sense,  deep  earnestness,  and  holy  emotion, 
made  a  profound  and  happy  impression  on  all 
present.  The  church  was  again  crowded  the  next 
night.  Among  the  audience  was  a  considerable 
number  of  Southerners — wild  fellows,  who  were  not 
often  seen  in  such  places,  among  them  the  enthu- 
siastic Kentuckian  already  alluded  to.  Kava- 
naugh, after  going  through  with  the  preliminary 
services,  announced  his  text,  and  began  his  dis- 
course. He  seemed  not  to  be  in  a  good  preaching 
mood.  His  wheels  drove  heayily.  Skirmishing 
around  and  around,  he  seemed  to  be  reconnoitering 
his  subject,  finding  no  salient  point  for  attack.  The 
look  of  eager  expectation  in  the  faces  of  the  peo- 
ple gave  way  to  one  of  puzzled  and  painful  solici- 
tude. /The  heads  of  the  expectant  Southerners 
drooped  a  little,  and  the  betting  Kentuckian  be- 
trayed his  feelings  by  a  lowering  of  the  uuder-jaw 


216  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES* 

and  sundry  nervous  twitchings  of  the  muscles  of 
his  face.  The  good  Bishop  kept  talking,  but  the 
wheels  revolved  slowly.  It  was  a  solemn  and 
"  trying  time"  to  at  least  a  portion  of  the  audience, 
as  the  Bishop,  with  head  bent  over  the  Bible  and 
his  broad  chest  stooped,  kept  trying  to  coax  a  re- 
sponse from  that  obstinate  text.  It  seemed  a  lost 
battle.  At  last  a  sudden  flash  of  thought  seemed 
to  strike  the  speaker,  irradiating  his  face  and  lift- 
ing his  form  as  he  gave  it  utterance,  with  a  char- 
acteristic throwing  back  of  his  shoulders  and  up- 
ward sweep  of  his  arms.  Those  present  will  never 
forget  what  followed.  The  afflatus  of  the  true 
orator  had  at  last  fallen  upon  him ;  the  mighty 
ship  was  launched,  and  swept  out  to  sea  under  full 
canvas.  Old  Kentucky  was  on  her  feet  that  night 
in  Sail  Jose.  It  was  indescribable.  Flashes  of 
spiritual  illumination,  explosive  bursts  of  eloquent 
declamation,  sparkles  of  chastened  wit,  appeals  of 
overwhelming  intensity,  followed  like  the  thunder 
and  lightning  of  a  Southern  storm,  The  church 
seemed  literally  to  rock.  "Ameus"' burst  from  the 
electrified  Methodists  of  all  sorts;  these  were  fol- 
lowed by  "halleluiahs"  on  all  sides;  and  when  the 
sermon  ended  with  a  rapturous  flight  of  imagina- 
tion, half  the  congregation  were  on  their  feet, 
shaking  hands,  embracing  one  another,  and  shout- 
ing. In  the  tremendous  religious  impression  made, 


BISHOP  KA  VAN  A  if  on  AV  CA  LIFORNIA.   217 

Criticism  was  not  thought  of.  Even  the  betting 
Kentuckian  showed  by  his  heaving  breast  and 
tearful  eyes  how  far  he  was  borne  out  of  the  ordi- 
nary channels  of  his  thought  and  feeling. 

He  came  to  Sonora,  where  I  was  pastor,  to  preach 
to  the  miners.  It  was  our  second  year  in  Califor- 
nia, and  the  paternal  element  in  his  nature  fell  on 
us  like  a  benediction.  He  preached  three  noble 
sermons  to  full  houses  in  the  little  church  on  the 
red  hill-side,  but  his  best  discourses  were  spoken  to 
the  young  preacher  in  the  tiny  parsonage.  Catch- 
ing the  fire  of  the  old  polemics  that  led  to  the  bat- 
tles of  the  giants .  in  the  West,  he  went  over  the 
points  of  difference  between  the  Arminian  and 
Calvinistic  schools  of  theology  in  a  way  that  left 
a  permanent  deposit  in  a  mind  which  was  just  then 
in  its  most  receptive  state.  We  felt  very  lonesome 
after  he  had  left.  It  was  like  a  touch  of  home  to 
have  him  with  us  then,  and  in  his  presence  we 
have  had  the  feeling  ever  since.  What  a  home 
will  heaven  be  where  all  such  men  will  be  gath- 
ered in  one  company ! 

It  was  a  warm  day  when  he  went  down  to  take 
the  stage  for  Mariposa.  The  vehicle  seemed  to  be 
already  full  of  passengers,  mostly  Mexicans  and 
Chinamen.  When  the  portly  Bishop  presented 
himself,  and  essayed  to  enter,  there  were  frowns 
and  expressions  of  dissatisfaction. 


218  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

"Mucho  malo!"  exclaimed  a  dark-skinned 
Senorita,  with  flashing  black  eyes. 

"  Make  room  in  there — he 's  got  to  go/'  ordered 
the  bluff  stage-driver,  in  a  peremptory  tone. 

There  were  already  eight  passengers  inside,  and 
the  top  of  the  coach  was  covered  as  thick  as  robins 
on  a  sumac-bush.  The  Bishop  mounted  the  step 
and  surveyed  the  situation.  The  seat  assigned  him 
was  between  two  Mexican  women,  and  as  he  sunk 
into  the  apparently  insufficient  space  there  was  a 
look  of  consternation  in  their  faces — and  I  was  not 
surprised  at  it.  But  scrouging  in,  the  new-comer 
smiled,  and  addressed  first  one  and  then  another 
of  his  fellow -passengers  with  so  much  friendly 
pleasantness  of  manner  that  the  frowns  cleared 
away  from  their  faces,  even  the  stolid,  phlegmatic 
Chinamen  brightening  up  with  the  contagious  good- 
humor  of  the  "big  Mellican  man/'  When  the 
driver  cracked  his  whip,  and  the  spirited  mustangs 
struck  off  in  the  California  gallop — the  early  Cali- 
fornians  scorned  any  slower  gait — everybody  was 
smiling.  Staging  in  California  in  those  days  was 
often  an  exciting  business.  There  were  "  opposi- 
tion" lines  on  most  of  the  thoroughfares,  and  the 
driving  was  furious  and  reckless  in  the  extreme. 
Accidents  were  strangely  seldom  when  we  consider 
the  rate  of  speed,  the  nature  of  the  roads,  and  the 
quantity  of  bad  whisky  consumed  by  most  of  the 


BISHOP  KA  VAN  A  UGH  IN  CALIFORNIA  .    219 

drivers.  Many  of  these  drivers  made  it  a  practice 
to  drink  at  every  stopping-place.  Seventeen  drinks 
were  counted  in  one  forenoon  ride  by  one  of  these 
thirsty  Jehus.  The  racing  between  the  rival 
stages  was  exciting  enough.  Lashing  the  wiry 
little  horses  to  full  speed,  there  was  but  one  thought, 
and  that  was,  to  "get  in  ahead/'  A  driver  named 
White  upset  his  stage  between  Montezuma  and 
Knight's  Ferry  on  the  Stanislaus,  breaking  his 
right-leg  above  the  knee.  Fortunately  none  of  the 
passengers  were  seriously  hurt,  though  some  of 
them  were  a  little  bruised  and  frightened.  The 
stage  was  righted,  White  resumed  the  reins,  whipped 
his  horses  into  a  run,  and,  with  his  broken  limb 
hanging  loose,  ran  into  town  ten  minutes  ahead  of 
his  rival,  fainting  as  he  was  lifted  from  the  seat. 

"Old  man  Holden  told  me  to  go  in  ahead  or 
smash  every  thing,  and  I  made  it!"  exclaimed 
White,  with  professional  pride. 

The  Bishop  was  fortunate  enough  to  escape  with 
unbroken  bones  as  he  dashed  from  point  to  point 
over  the  California  hills  and  valleys,  though  that 
heavy  body  of  his  was  mightily  shaken  up  on 
many  occasions. 

He  came  to  California  on  his  second  visit,  in 
1863,  when  the  war  was  raging.  An  incident  oc- 
curred that  gave  him  a  very  emphatic  reminder 
that  those  were  troublous  times. 


220  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

He  was  at  a  camp-meeting  in  the  San  Joaquift 
Valley,  near  Linden — a  place  famous  for  gather- 
ings of  this  sort.  The  Bishop  was  to  preach  at 
eleven  o'clock,  and  a  great  crowd  was  there,  full 
of  high  expectation.  A  stranger  drove  up  just 
before  the  hour  of  service  —  a  broad-shouldered 
man  in  blue  clothes,  and  wearing  a  glazed  cap. 
He  asked  to  see  Bishop  Kavanaugh  privately  for 
a  few  moments, 

They  retired  to  "the  preachers'  tent,"  and  the 
stranger  said : 

"  My  name  is  Jackson — Colonel  Jackson,  of  the 
United  States  Army.  I  have  a  disagreeable  duty 
to  perform.  By  order  of  General  McDowell,  I  am 
to  place  you  under  arrest,  and  take  you  to  San 
Francisco." 

"Can  you  wait  until  I  preach  my  sermon?" 
asked  the  Bishop,  good-naturedly;  "the  people  ex- 
pect it,  and  I  do  n't  want  to  disappoint  them  if  it 
can  be  helped." 

"How  long  will  it  take  you?" 

"Well,  I  am  a  little  uncertain  when  I  get 
started,  but  I  will  try  not  to  be  too  long." 

"Very  well ;  go  on  with  your  sermon,  and  if  you 
have  no  objection  I  will  be  one  of  your  hearers." 

The  secret  was  known  only  to  the  Bishop  and 
his  captor.  The  sermon  was  one  of  his  best — the 
vast  crowd  of  people  were  mightily  moved,  and  the 


BISHOP  KAVANAUGII  IN  CALIFORNIA.    221 

Colonel's  eyes  were  not  dry  when  it  closed.  After 
a  prayer,  and  a  song,  and  a  collection,  the  Bishop 
stood  up  again  before  the  people,  and  said  : 

"I  have  just  received  a  message  which  makes  it 
necessary  for  me  to  return  to  San  Francisco  imme- 
diately. I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  remain  longer, 
and  participate  with  you  in  the  hallowed  enjoy- 
ments of  the  occasion.  The  blessing  of  God  be 
with  you,  my  brethren  and  sisters." 

His  manner  was  so  bland,  and  his  tone  go  serene, 
that  nobody  had  the  faintest  suspicion  as  to  what 
it  was  that  called  him  away  so  suddenly.  When 
he  drove  off  with  the  stranger,  the  popular  surmise 
was  that  it  Xvas  a  wredding  or  a  funeral  that  called 
for  such  haste.  These  are  two  events  in  human 
life  that  admit  of  no  delays :  people  must  be  buried, 
and  they  will  be  married. 

The  Bishop  reported  to  General  Mason,  Provost- 
marshal  General,  and  was  told  to  hold  himself  as 
in  duress  until  further  orders,  and  to  be  ready  to 
appear  at  head-quarters  at  short  notice  when  called 
for.  He  was  put  on  parole,  as  it  were.  He  came 
down  to  San  Jose  and  stirred  my  congregation  with 
several  of  his  powerful  discourses.  In  the  mean- 
time the  arrest  had  gotten  into  the  newspapers. 
Nothing  that  happens  escapes  the  California  journal- 
ists, and  they  have  even  been  known  to  get  hold  of 
things  that  never  happened  at  all.  It  seems  that 


222  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

some  one  in  the  shape  of  a  man  had  made  an  affi- 
davit that  Bishop  Kavanaugh  had  come  to  the 
Pacific  Coast  as  a  secret  agent  of  the  Southern 
Confederacy,  to  intrigue  and  recruit  in  its  interest! 
Five  minutes'  inquiry  would  have  satisfied  General 
McDowell  of  the  silliness  of  such  a  charge — but 
it  was  in  war  times,  and  he  did  not  stop  to  make 
the  inquiry.  In  Kentucky  the  good  old  Bishop 
had  the  freedom  of  the  whole  land,  coming  and 
going  without  hinderance;  but  the  fact  was,  he  had 
not  been  within  the  Confederate  lines  since  the  war 
began.  To  make  such  an  accusation  against  him 
was  the  climax  of  absurdity. 

About  three  weeks  after  the  date  of  his  arrest,  I 
was  with  the  Bishop  one  morning  on  our  way  to 
Judge  Moore's  beautiful  country-seat,  near  San 
Jose,  situated  on  the  far-famed  Alameda.  The 
carriage  was  driven  by  a  black  man  named  Henry. 
Passing  the  post-office,  I  found,  addressed  to  the 
Bishop  in  my  care,  a  huge  document  bearing  the 
official  stamp  of  the  provost-marshal's  office,  San 
Francisco.  He  opened  and  read  it  as  we  drove 
slowly  along,  and  as  he  did  so  he  brightened  up, 
and  turning  to  Henry,  said : 

"Henry,  were  you  ever  a  slave?" 

"  Yes,  sah ;  in  Mizzoory,"  said  Henry,  showing 
his  white  teeth. 

"Did  you  ever  get  your  free-papers?" 


BISHOP  KA  VAN  A  UGH  IN  CALIFORNIA. 

"  Yes,  sah — got  'em  now." 

"Well,  I  have  got  mine — let's  shake  hands." 

And  the  Bishop  and  Henry  had  quite  a  hand- 
shaking over  this  mutual  experience.  Henry  en- 
joyed it  greatly,  as  his  frequent  chucklings  evinced 
while  the  Judge's  fine  bays  were  trotting  along  the 
Alameda. 

(I  linger  on  the  word  Alameda  as  I  write  it.  It 
is  at  least  one  beneficent  trace  of  the  early  Jesuit 
Fathers  who  founded  the  San  Jose  and  Santa  Clara 
missions  a  hundred  years  ago.  They  planted  an 
avenue  of  willows  the  entire  three  miles,  and  in 
that  rich,  moist  soil  the  trees  have  grown  until  their 
trunks  are  of  enormous  size,  and  their  branches, 
overarching  the  highway  with  their  dense  shade, 
make  a  drive  of  unequaled  beauty  and  pleasant- 
ness. The  horse-cars  have  now  taken  away  much 
of  its  romance,  but  in  the  early  days  it  was  famous 
for  moonlight  drives  and  their  concomitants  and 
consequences.  A  long-limbed  four-year-old  Cali- 
fornia colt  gave  me  a  romantic  touch  of  a  different 
sort,  nearly  the  last  time  I  was  on  the  Alameda,  by 
running  away  with  the  buggy,  and  breaking  it  and 
me — almost — to  pieces.  I  am  reminded  of  it  by 
the  pain  in  my  crippled  right-shoulder  as  I  write 
these  lines  in  July,  1881.  But  still  I  say,  Bless- 
ings on  the  memory  of  the  Fathers  who  planted 
the  willows  on  the  Alameda!) 


224  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

An  intimation  was  given  the  Bishop  that  if  he 
wanted  the  name  of  the  false -swearer  who  had 
caused  him  to  be  arrested  he  could  have  it. 

"No,  I  don't  want  to  know  his  name,"  said  he; 
"  it  will  do  me  no  good  to  know  it.  May  God  par- 
don his  sin,  as  I  do  most  heartily ! " 

A  really  strong  preacher  preaches  a  great  many 
sermons,  each  of  which  the  hearers  claim  to  be  the 
greatest  sermon  of  his  life.  I  have  heard  of  at 
least  a  half  dozen  "greatest"  sermons  by  Bascom 
and  Pierce,  and  other  noted  pulpit  orators.  But  I 
heard  one  sermon  by  Ivavanaugh  that  was  proba- 
bly indeed  his  master-effort.  It  had  a  history. 
When  the  Bishop  started  to  Oregon,  in  1863,  I 
placed  in  his  hands  Bascom's  Lectures,  which, 
strange  to  say,  he  had  never  read.  Of  these  Lect- 
ures the  elder  Dr.  Bond  said  "they  would  be  the 
colossal  pillars  of  Bascom's  fame  when  his  printed 
sermons  were  forgotten."  Those  Lectures  wonder- 
fully anticipated  the  changing  phases  of  the  mate- 
rialistic infidelity  developed  since  his  day,  and 
applied  to  them  the  reductio  ad  absurdum  with  re- 
lentless and  resistless  power.  On  his  return  from 
Oregon,  Kavanaugh  met  and  presided  over  the 
Annual  Conference  at  San  Jose.  One  of  his  old 
friends,  who  was  troubled  with  skeptical  thoughts 
of  the  materialistic  sort,  requested  him  to  preach 
a  sermon  for  his  special  benefit.  This  request,  and 


BlSIIOP  KA  VAN  A  UGH  IN  CA  L1FORNIA.     225 

the  previous  reading  of  the  Lectures,  directed  his 
mind  to  the  topic  suggested  with  intense  earnest- 
ness. The  result  was,  as  I  shall  always  think,  the 
sermon  of  a  life-time.  The  text  was,  There  is  a  spirit 
in  man;  and  the  inspiration  of  the  Almighty  giveth 
them  understanding.  (Job  xxxii.  8.)  That  mighty 
discourse  was  a  demonstration  of  the  truth  of  the 
affirmation  of  the  text.  I  will  not  attempt  to  repro- 
duce it  here,  though  many  of  its  passages  are  still 
vivid  in  my  memory.  It  tore  to  shreds  the  sophis- 
tries by  which  it  was  sought  to  sink  immortal  man 
to  the  level  of  the  brutes  that  perish ;  it  appealed 
to  the  consciousness  of  his  hearers  in  red-hot  logic 
that  burned  its  way  to  the  inmost  depths  of  the  cold- 
est and  hardest  hearts ;  it  scintillated  now  and  then 
sparkles  of  wit  like  the  illuminated  edges  of  an 
advancing  thunder-cloud ;  borne  on  the  wings  of 
his  imagination,  whose  mighty  sweep  took  him  be- 
yond the  bounds  of  earth,  through  whirling  worlds 
and  burning  suns,  he  found  the  culmination  of  hu- 
man destiny  in  the  bosom  of  eternity,  infinity,  and 
God.  The  peroration  was  indescribable.  The  rapt 
audience  reeled  under  it.  Inspiration!  the  man 
of  God  wras  himself  its  demonstration,  for  the 
power  of  his  word  was  not  his  own. 

"O  I  thank  God  that  he  sent  me  here  this  day 
to  hear  that  sermon!  I  never  heard  anything 
like  it,  and  I  shall  never  forget  it,  or  cease  to  be 


226  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

thankful  that  I  heard  it,"  said  the  Rev.  Dr.  Charles 
Wadsworth,  of  Philadelphia,  the  great  Presbyte- 
rian preacher — a  man  of  genius,  and  a  true  prose- 
poet,  as  any  one  will  concede  after  reading  his 
published  sermons.  As  he  spoke,  the  tears  were 
in  his  eyes,  the  muscles  of  his  face  quivering,  and 
his  chest  heaving  with  irrepressible  emotion.  No- 
body who  heard  that  discourse  will  accuse  me  of 
too  high  coloring  in  this  brief  description  of  it. 

"Don't  you  wish  you  were  a  Kentuckian?"  was 
the  enthusiastic  exclamation  of  a  lady  \vho  brought 
from  Kentucky  a  matchless  wit  and  the  culture 
of  Science  Hill  Academy,  which  has  blessed  and 
brightened  so  many  homes  from  the  Ohio  to  the 
Sacramento. 

I  think  the  Bishop  was  present  on  another  occa- 
sion when  the  compliment  he  received  was  a  left- 
handed  one.  It  was  at  the  Stone  Church  in  Sui- 
sun  Valley.  The  Bishop  and  a  number  of  the 
most  prominent  ministers  of  the  Pacific  Conference 
were  present  at  a  Saturday-morning  preaching  ap- 
pointment. They  had  all  been  engaged  in  pro- 
tracted labors,  and,  beginning  with  the  Bishop,  one 
after  another  declined  to  preach.  The  lot  fell  at 
last  upon  a  boyish-looking  brother  of  very  small 
stature,  who  labored  under  the  double  disadvan- 
tage of  being  a  very  young  preacher,  and  of  hav- 
ing been  reared  in  the  immediate  vicinity.  The 


BISHOP  KAVANA UGH  IN  CALIFORNIA.  227 

people  were  disappointed  and  indignant  when  they 
saw  the  little  fellow  go  into  .the  pulpit.  None 
showed  their  displeasure  more  plainly  than  Uncle 
Ben  Brown,  a  somewhat  eccentric  old  brother,  who 
was  one  of  the  founders  of  that  Society,  and  one 
of  its  best  official  members.  He  sat  as  usual  on  a 
front  seat,  his  thick  eyebrows  fiercely  knit,  and 
his  face  wearing  a  heavy  frown.  He  had  expected 
to  hear  the  Bishop,  and  this  was  what  it  had  come 
to!  He  drew  his  shoulders  sullenly  down,  and, 
with  his  eyes  bent  upon  the  floor,  nursed  his  wrath. 
The  little  preacher  began  his  sermon,  and  soon 
astonished  everybody  by  the  energy  with  which  he 
spoke.  As  he  proceeded,  the  frown  on  Uncle  Ben's 
face  relaxed  a  little ;  at  length  he  lifted  his  eyes 
and  glanced  at  the  speaker  in  surprise.  He  did 
not  think  it  was  in  him.  With  abnormal  fluency 
and  force,  the  little  preacher  went  on  with  the  in- 
creasing sympathy  of  his  audience,  who  were  feel- 
ing the  effects  of  a  generous  reaction  in  his  favor. 
Uncle  Ben,  touched  a  little  with  honest  obstinacy 
as  he  was,  gradually  relaxed  in  the  sternness  of . 
his  looks,  straightening  up  by  degrees  until  he  sat 
upright  facing  the  speaker  in  a  sort  of  half-reluc- 
tant, pleased  wonder.  Just  at  the  close  of  a  spe- 
cially vigorous  burst  of  declamation,  the  old  man 
exclaimed,  in  a  loud  voice: 

"  Bless  God  !  lie  uses  the  weak  things  of  this  world 


228  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

to  confound  the  mighty  !"  casting  around  a  triumph- 
ant glance  at  the  Bishop  and  other  preachers. 

This  impromptu  remark  was  more  amusing  to 
the  hearers  than  helpful  to  the  preacher,  I  fear ; 
but  it  was  a  way  the  dear  old  brother  had  of  speak- 
ing out  in  meeting. 

''  I  must  end  this  Sketch.  I  have  dipped  my  pen 
in  my  heart  in  writing  it.  The  subject  of  it  has 
been  friend,  brother,  father,  to  me  since  the  day  he 
looked  in  upon  us  in  the  little  cabin  on  the  hill  in 
Sonora,  in  1855.  When  I  greet  him  on  the  hills 
of  heaven,  he  will  not  be  sorry  to  be  told  that 
among  the  many  in  the  far  West  to  whom  he  was 
helpful  was  the  writer  of  this  too  imperfect  Sketch. 


SANDEES. 


HE  belonged  to  the  Church  militant.  In  looks 
he  was  a  cross  between  a  grenadier  and  a 
Trappist.  But  there  was  more  soldier  than  monk 
in  his  nature.  He  was  over  six  feet  high,  thin  as 
a  bolster,  and  straight  as  a  long-leaf  pine.  His 
anatomy  was  strongly  conspicuous.  He  was  the 
boniest  of  men.  There  were  as  many  angles  as 
inches  in  the  lines  of  his  face.  His  hair  dis- 
dained the  persuasions  of  comb  or  brush,  and 
rose  in  tangled  masses  above  a  head  that  would 
have  driven  a  phrenologist  mad.  It  was  a  long 
head  in  every  sense.  His  features  were  strong 
and  stern,  his  nose  one  that  would  have  delighted 
the  great  Napoleon  —  it  was  a  grand  organ. 
You  said  at  once,  on  looking  at  him,  Here  is  a 
man  that  fears  neither  man  nor  devil.  The  face 
was  an  honest  face.  When  you  looked  into  those 
keen,  dark  eyes,  and  read  the  lines  of  that  stormy 
countenance,  you  felt  that  it  would  be  equally 

(229) 


230  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

impossible  for  him  to  tell  a  lie  or  to  fear  the  face 
of  man. 

This  was  John  Sanders,  one  of  the  early  Cali- 
fornia Methodist  preachers.  He  went  among  the 
first  to  preach  the  gospel  to  the  gold-hunters.  He 
got  a  hearing  where  some  failed.  His  sincerity  and 
brain-power  commanded  attention,  and  his  pluck  en- 
forced respect.  In  one  case  it  seemed  to  be  needed. 

He  was  sent  to  preach  in  Placerville,  popularly 
called  in  the  old  days,  "Hangtown."  It  was  then 
a  lively  and  populous  place.  The  mines  were  rich, 
and  gold-dust  was  abundant  as  good  behavior  was 
scarce.  The.  one  church  in  the  town  was  a  "union 
church/'  and  it  was  occupied  by  Sanders  and  a 
preacher  of  another  sect  on  alternate  Sundays. 
All  went  well  for  many  months,  and  if  there  were 
no  sinners  converted  in  that  camp,  the  few  saints 
were  at  peace.  It  so  happened  that  Sanders  was 
called  away  for  a  week  or  two,  and  on  his  return 
he  found  that  a  new  preacher  had  been  sent  to  the 
place,  and  that  he  had  made  an  appointment  to 
preach  on  his  (Sanders's)  regular  day.  Having 
no  notion  of  yielding  his  rights,  Sanders  also  in- 
serted a  notice  in  the  papers  of  the  town  that  he 
would  preach  at  the  same  time  and  place.  The 
thing  was  talked  about  in  the  town  and  vicinity, 
and  there  was  a  buzz  of  excitement.  The  miners, 
always  ready  for  a  sensation,  became  interested, 


SANDEBS.  231 

and  when  Sunday  came  the  church  could  not  hold 
the  crowd.  The  strange  preacher  arrived  first,  en- 
tered the  pulpit,  knelt  a  few  moments  in  silent  de- 
votion, according  to  custom,  and  then  sat  and  sur- 
veyed the  audience  which  was  surveying  him  with 
curious  interest.  He  was  a  tall,  fine-looking  man, 
almost  the  equal  of  Sanders  in  height,  and  superior 
to  him  in  weight.  He  was  a  Kentuckian  origi- 
nally, but  went  from  Ohio  to  California,  and  was  a 
full-grown  man,  of  the  best  Western  physical  type. 
In  a  little  while  Sanders  entered  the  church,  made 
his  way  through  the  dense  crowd,  ascended  the 
pulpit,  cast  a  sharp  glance  at  the  intruder,  and  sat 
down.  There  was  a  dead  silence.  The  two  preach- 
ers gazed  at  the  congregation ;  the  congregation 
gazed  at  the  preachers.  A  pin  might  have  been 
heard  to  fall.  Sanders  was  as  imperturbable  as  a 
statue,  but  his  lips  were  pressed  together  tightly, 
and  there  was  a  blaze  in  his  eyes.  The  strange 
preacher  showed  signs  of  nervousness,  moving  his 
hands  and  feet,  and  turning  this  way  and  that  in 
his  seat.  It  was  within  five  minutes  of  the  time  for 
opening  the  service.  The  stranger  rose,  and  was  in 
the  act  of  taking  hold  of  the  Bible  that  lay  on  the 
cushion  in  front  of  him,  when  Sanders  rose  to  his 
full  height,  stepped  in  front  of  him,  and  darting 
lightning  from  his  eyes  as  he  looked  him  full  in 
the  face,  said : 


232  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

"  I  preach  here  to-day,  sir !  " 

That  settled  it.  There  was  no  mistaking  that 
look  or  tone.  The  tall  stranger  muttered  an  in- 
articulate protest  and  subsided.  Sanders  proceeded 
with  the  service,  making  no  allusion  to  the  diffi- 
culty until  it  was  ended.  Then  he  proposed  a 
meeting  of  the  citizens  the  next  evening  to  adju- 
dicate the  case.  The  proposal  was  acceded  to. 
The  church  was  again  crowded ;  and  though  eccle- 
siastically Sanders  was  in  the  minority,  with  the 
genuine  love  for  fair-play  which  is  a  trait  of  Anglo- 
Saxon  character,  he  was  sustained  by  an  over- 
whelming majority.  It  is  likely,  too,  that  his 
plucky  bearing  the  day  before  made  him  some 
votes.  A  preacher  who  would  fight  for  his  rights 
suited  those  wild  fellows  better  than  one  who  would 
assert  a  claim  that  he  would  not  enforce.  Sanders 
preached  to  larger  audiences  after  this  episode  in 
his  "Hangtown"  pastorate. 

It  was  after  this  that  he  went  out  one  day  to 
stake  off  a  lot  on  which  he  proposed  to  build  a 
house  of  worship.  It  was  near  the  Roman  Catho- 
lic Church.  A  zealous  Irishman,  who  W7as  a  little 
more  than  half  drunk,  was  standing  by.  Evident- 
ly he  did  not  like  any  such  heretical  movements, 
and,  after  Sanders  had  placed  the  stake  in  the 
earth,  the  Hibernian  stepped  forward  and  pulled 
it  up. 


SANDERS.  233 

"I  put  the  stake  back  in  its  place.  He  pulled 
it  up  again.  I  put  it  back.  He  pulled  it  up 
again.  I  put  it  back  once  more.  He  got  fiery 
mad  by  this  time,  and  started  at  me  with  an  ax  in 
his  hand.  I  had  an  ax  in  my  hand,  and  as  its 
handle  was  longer  than  his,  I  cut  him  down." 

The  poor  fellow  had  waked  up  the  fighting 
preacher,  and  fell  before  the  sweep  of  Sanders's  ax. 
He  dodged  as  the  weapon  descended,  and  saved 
his  life  by  doing  so.  He  got  an  ugly  wound  on 
the  shoulder,  and  kept  his  bed  for  many  weeks. 
When  he  rose  from  his  bed  he  had  a  profound  re- 
gard for  Sanders,  whose  grit  excited  his  admira- 
tion. There  was  not  a  particle  of  resentment  in 
his  generous  Irish  heart.  He  became  a  sober  man, 
and  it  was  afterward  a  current  pleasantry  among 
the  "boys'7  that  he  was  converted  by  the  use  of 
the  carnal  weapon  widded  by  that  spunky  parson. 
Nobody  blamed  Sanders  for  his  part  in  the  matter. 
It  was  a  fair  fight,  and  he  had  the  right  on  his 
side.  Had  he  shown  the  white  feather,  that  would 
have  damaged  him  with  a  community  in  whose 
estimation  courage  was  the  cardinal  virtue.  San- 
ders was  popular  with  all  classes,  and  Placerville 
remembers  him  to  this  day.  He  was  no  rose-water 
divine,  but  thundered  the  terrors  of  the  law  into 
the  ears  of  those  wild  fellows  with  the  boldness  of 
a  John  the  Baptist.  Many  a  sinner  quaked  under 


234  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

his  stern  logic  and  fiery  appeals,  and  some  re- 
pented. 

I  shall  never  forget  a  sermon  he  preached  at 
San  Jose.  He  was  in  bad  health,  and  his  mind 
was  morbid  and  gloomy.  His  text  was,  Who 
hath  hardened  himself  against  him,  and  hath  pros- 
pered f  (Job  ix.  4.)  The  thought  that  ran  through 
the  discourse  was  the  certainty  that  retribution 
would  overtake  the  guilty.  God's  law  will  be  up- 
held. It  protects  the  righteous,  but  must  crush 
the  disobedient.  He  swept  away  the  sophisms 
by  which  men  persuade  themselves  that  they  can 
escape  the  penalty  of  violated  law;  and  it  seemed 
as  if  we  could  almost  hear  the  crash  of  the  tum- 
bling wrecks  of  hopes  built  on  false  foundations. 
God  Almighty  was  visible  on  the  throne  of  his 
power,  armed  with  the  seven  thunders  of  his 
wrath. 

"Who  hath  defied  God  and  escaped?"  he  de- 
manded, with  flashing  eyes  and  trumpet  voice. 
And  then  he  recited  the  histories  of  nations  and 
men  that  had  made  the  fatal  experiment,  and  the 
doom  that  had  whelmed  them  in  utter  ruin. 

"And  yet  you  hope  to  escape!"  he  thundered 
to  the  silent  and  awe-struck  men  and  women  be- 
fore him.  "You  expect  that  God  will  abrogate 
his  law  to  please  you;  that  he  will  tear  down  the 
pillars  of  his  moral  government  that  you  may  be 


SANDERS.  235 

saved  in  your  sins!  O  fools,  fools,  fools!  there  is 
no  place  but  hell  for  such  a  folly  as  this!" 

His  haggard  face,  the  stern  solemnity  of  his 
voice,  the  sweep  of  his  long  arms,  the  gleam  of  his 
deep-set  eyes,  and  the  vigor  of  his  inexorable  logic, 
drove  that  sermon  home  to  the  listeners. 

He  was  the  keenest  of  critics,  and  often  merci- 
less. He  was  present  at  a  camp-meeting  near  San 
Jose,  but  too  feeble  to  preach.  I  was  there,  and 
disabled  from  the  effects  of  the  California  poison- 
oak.  That  deceitful  shrub !  Its  pink  leaves  smile 
at  you  as  pleasantly  as  sin,  and,  like  sin,  it  leaves 
its  sting.  The  "preachers'  tent"  was  immediately 
in  the  rear  of  "the  stand,"  and  Sanders  and  I  lay 
inside  and  listened  to  the  sermons.  He  was  in  one 
of  his  caustic  moods,  and  his  comments  were  racy 
enough,  though  not  helpful  to  devotion. 

"There!  he  yelled,  clapped  his  hands,  stamped, 
and — said  nothing  !  " 

The  criticism  was  just:  the  brother  in  the  stand 
was  making  a  great  noise,  but  there  was  not  much 
meaningjn  what  he  said. 

"He  made  one  point  only — a  pretty  good  apol- 
ogy for  Lazarus's  poverty." 

This  was  said  at  the  close  of  an  elaborate  dis- 
course on  "The  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus,"  by  a 
brother  who  sometimes  got  "  in  the  brush." 

"He   isn't   touching   his   text  —  he   knows   no 


236  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

more  theology  than  a  guinea-pig.  Words,  words, 
words ! " 

This  last  criticism  was  directed  against  a  timid 
young  divine,  who  was  badly  frightened,  but  who 
has  since  shown  that  there  was  good  metal  in  him. 
If  he  had  known  what  was  going  on  just  behind 
him,  he  would  have  collapsed  entirely  in  that  ten- 
tative effort  at  preaching  the  gospel. 

Sanders  kept  up  this  running  fire  of  criticism  at 
every  service,  cutting  to  the  bone  at  every  blow, 
and  giving  me  new  light  on  homiletics,  if  he  did 
not  promote  my  enjoyment  of  the  preaching.  He 
had  read  largely  and  thought  deeply,  and  his  in- 
cisive intellect  had  no  patience  with  what  was  fee- 
ble or  pointless. 

Disease  settled  upon  his  lungs,  and  he  rapidly 
declined.  His  strong  frame  grew  thinner  and  thin- 
ner, and  his  mind  alternated  between  moods  of 
morbid  bitterness  and  transient  buoyancy.  As  the 
end  approached,  his  bitter  moods  were  less  frequent, 
and  an  unwonted  tenderness  came  into  his  words 
and  tones.  He  went  to  the  Lokonoma  Springs,  in 
the  hills  of  Napa  county,  and  in  their  solitudes  he 
adjusted  himself  to  the  great  change  that  was 
drawing  near.  The  capacious  blue  sky  that  arched 
above  him,  the  sighing  of  the  gentle  breeze  through 
the  solemn  pines,  the  repose  of  the  encircling 
mountains,  bright  with  sunrise,  or  purpling  in  the 


SANDERS.  337 

twilight,  distilled  the  soothing  influences  of  nature 
into  his  spirit,  and  there  was  a  great  calm  within. 
*  Beyond  those  California  hills  the  hills  of  God  rose 
in  their  supernal  beauty  before  the  vision  of  his 
faith,  and  when  the  summons  came  for  him  one 
midnight,  his  soul  leaped  to  meet  it  in  a  ready  and 
joyous  response.  On  a  white  marble  slab,  at  the 
"Stone  Church,"  in  Suisun  Valley,  is  this  inscrip- 
tion : 

REV.  JOHN  SANDERS. 

Many  are  the  afflictions  of  the  righteous,  but  the  Lord  de- 
livereth  him  out  of  them  all. 

The  spring  flowers  were  blooming  on  the  grave 
when  I  saw  it  last. 


A  DAY. 


AH,  that  blessed,  blessed  day!  I  had  gone  to 
the  White  Sulphur  Springs,  in  Napa  County, 
to  get  relief  from  the  effects  of  the  California  poi- 
son-oak. Gay  deceiver!  With  its  tender  green 
and  pink  leaves,  it  looks  as  innocent  and  smiling  as 
sin  when  it  woos  youth  and  ignorance.  Like  sin, 
it  is  found  everywhere  in  that  beautiful  land. 
Many  antidotes  are  used,  but  the  only  sure  way  of 
dealing  with  it  is  to  keep  away  from  it.  Again, 
there  is  an  analogy:  it  is  easier  to  keep  out  of  sin 
than  to  get  out  when  caught.  These  soft,  pure  white 
sulphur  waters  work  miracles  of  healing,  and  at- 
tract all  sorts  of  people.  The  weary  and  broken- 
down  man  of  business  comes  here  to  sleep,  and  eat, 
and  rest;  the  woman  of  fashion, to  dress  and  flirt; 
the  loudly-dressed  and  heavily-bejeweled  gambler, 
to  ply  his  trade ;  happy  bridal  couples,  to  have  the 
world  to  themselves;  successful  and  unsuccessful 
politicians,  to  plan  future  triumphs  or  brood  over 
(233) 


A  DAY.  239 

defeats ;  pale  and  trembling  invalids,  to  seek  heal- 
ing or  a  brief  respite  from  the  grave ;  families  es- 
caping  from  the  wind  and  fog  of  the  bay,  to  spend 
a  few  weeks  where  they  can  find  sunshine  and 
quiet — it  is  a  little  world  in  itself.  The  spot  is 
every  way  beautiful,  but  its  chief  charm  is  its  iso- 
lation. Though  within  a  few  hours'  ride  of  San 
Francisco,  and  only  two  miles  from  a  railroad-sta- 
tion, you  feel  as  if  you  were  in  the  very  heart  of 
nature — and  so  you  are.  Winding  along  the  banks 
of  a  sparkling  stream,  the  mountains — great  masses 
of  leafy  green — rise  abruptly  on  either  hand ;  the 
road  bends  this  way  and  that  until  a  sudden  turn 
brings  you  to  a  little  valley  hemmed  in  all  around 
by  the  giant  hills.  A  bold,  rocky  projection  just 
above  the  main  hotel  gives  a  touch  of  ruggedness 
and  grandeur  to  the  scene.  How  delicious  the  feel- 
ing of  rest  that  comes  over  you  at  once ! — the  world 
shut  out,  the  hills  around,  and  the  sky  above. 

It  was  in  1863,  when  the  civil  war  was  at  its 
white  heat.  Circumstances  had  given  me  unde- 
sired  notoriety  in  that  connection.  I  had  been 
thrust  into  the  very  vortex  of  its  passion,  and  my 
name  made  the  rallying-cry  of  opposing  elements 
in  California.  The  guns  of  Manassas,  Cedar 
Mountain,  and  the  Chickahominy,  were  echoed  in 
the  foot-hills  of  the  Sierras,  and  in  the  peaceful 
valleys  of  the  far-away  Pacific  Coast.  The  good 


240  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

sense  of  a  practical  people  prevented  any  flagrant 
outbreak  on  a  large  scale,  but  here  and  there  a  too 
ardent  Southerner  said  or  did  something  that  gave 
him  a  few  weeks'  or  months'  duress  at  Fort  Alca- 
traz,  and  the  honors  of  a  bloodless  martyrdom. 
I  was  then  living  at  North  Beach,  in  full  sight  of 
that  fortress.  It  was  kindly  suggested  by  several 
of  my  brother  editors  that  it  would  be  a  good  place 
for  me.  When,  as  my  eye  swept  over  the  bay  in 
the  early  morning,  the  first  sight  that  met  my  gaze 
was  its  rocky  ramparts  and  bristling  guns,  the 
poet's  li lie  would  come  to  mind:  "Tis  distance 
lends  enchantment  to  the  view."  I  was  just  as 
close  as  I  wanted  to  be..  "  I  have  good  quarters 
for  you,"  said  the  brave  and  courteous  Captain 
McDougall,  who  was  in  command  at  the  fort ;  "  and 
knowing  your  penchant,  I  will  let  you  have  the 
freedom  of  a  sunny  corner  of  the  island  for  fishing 
in  good  weather."  The  true  soldier  is  sometimes 
a  true  gentleman. 

The  name  and  image  of  another  Federal  officer 
rise  before  me  as  I  write.  It  is  that  of  the  heroic 
soldier,  General  Wright,  who  went  down  with  the 
"Brother  Jonathan,"  on  the  Oregon  coast,  in  1865. 
He  was  in  command  of  the  Department  of  the 
Pacific  during  this  stormy  period  of  which  I  am 
speaking.  I  had  never  seen  him,  and  I  had  no 
special  desire  to  make  his  acquaintance.  Some- 


A  DAY.  241 

how  Fort  Alcatraz  had  become  associated  with 
his  name  for  reasons  already  intimated.  But, 
though  unsought  by  me,  an  interview  did  take 
place. 

"It  has  come  at  last!"  was  my  exclamation  as 
I  read  the  note  left  by  an  orderly  in  uniform  noti- 
fying me  that  I  was  expected  to  report  at  the  quar- 
ters of  the  commanding-general  the  next  day  at 
ten  o'clock.  Conscious  of  my  innocence  of  treason 
or  any  other  crime  against  the  Government  or  so- 
ciety, my  pugnacity  was  roused  by  this  summons. 
Before  the  hour  set  for  my  appearance  at  the  mil- 
itary head-quarters,  I  was  ready  for  martyrdom  01 
any  thing  else — except  Alcatraz.  I  didn't  like 
that.  The  island  was  too  small,  and  too  foggy  and 
windy,  for  my  taste.  I  thought  it  best  to  obey  the 
order  I  had  received,  and  so,  punctually  at  the 
hour,  I  repaired  to  the  head-quarters  on  Washing- 
ton Street,  and  ascending  the  steps  with  a  firm 
tread  and  defiant  feeling,  I  entered  the  room. 
General  Mason,  provost -marshal,  a  scholar  and 
polished  gentleman,  politely  offered  me  a  seat. 

"  No ;  I  prefer  to  stand,"  I  said  stiffly. 

"The  General  will  see  you  in  a  few  minutes," 
said  he,  resuming  his  work,  while  I  stood  nursing 
my  indignation  and  sense  of  wrong. 

In  a  little  while  General  Wright  entered — a  tall 
and  striking  figure,  silver-haired,  blue-eyed,  ruddy- 
16 


242  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

faced,  with  a  mixture  of  the  dash  of  the  soldier 
and  the  benignity  of  a  bishop. 

Declining  also  his  cordial  invitation  to  be  seated, 
I  stood  and  looked  at  him,  still  nursing  defiance, 
and  getting  ready  to  wear  a  martyr's  crown.  The 
General  spoke : 

"  Did  you  know,  sir,  that  I  am  perhaps  the  most 
attentive  reader  of  your  paper  to  be  found  in  Cal- 
ifornia?" 

"No;  I  was  not  aware  that  I  had  the  honor  of 
numbering  the  commanding-general  of  this  depart- 
ment among  my  readers.'7  (This  was  spoken  with 
severe  dignity.) 

"A  lot  of  hot-heads  have  for  sometime  been  urg- 
ing me  to  have  you  arrested  on  the  ground  that 
you  are  editing  and  publishing  a  disloyal  newspa- 
per. Not  wishing  to  do  any  injustice  to  a  fellow- 
man,  I  have  taken  means  every  week  to  obtain  a 
copy  of  your  paper,  the  Pacific  Methodist;  and  al- 
low me  to  say,  sir,  that  no  paper  has  ever  come 
into  my  family  which  is  such  a  favorite  with  all 
of  us/' 

I  bowed,  feeling  that  the  spirit  of  martyrdom 
was  cooling  within  me.  The  General  continued : 

"I  have  sent  for  you,  sir,  that  I  might  say  to 
youj  Go  on  in  your  present  prudent  and  manly 
course,  and  while  I  command  this  department  you 
are  as  safe  as  I  am." 


A  DAY.  243 

There  I  stood,  a  whipped  man,  my  pugnacity 
all  gone,  and  the  martyr's  crown  away  out  of  my 
reach.  I  walked  softly  down-stairs,  after  bidding 
the  General  an  adieu  in  a  manner  in  marked  con- 
trast to  that  in  which  I  had  greeted  him  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  interview.  Now  that  it  is  all  over, 
and  the  ocean  winds  have  wailed  their  dirges  for 
him  so  many  long  years,  I  would  pay  a  humble 
tribute  to  the  memory  of  as  brave  and  knightly  a 
man  as  ever  wore  epaulettes  or  fought  under  the 
stars  and  stripes.  He  was  of  the  type  of  Sidney 
Johnston,  who  fell  at  Shiloh,  and  of  McPherson, 
who  fell  at  Kennesaw — all  Californians ;  all  Amer- 
icans, true  soldiers,  who  had  a  sword  for  the  foe  in 
fair  fight  in  the  open  field,  and  a  shield  for  woman, 
and  for  the  non-combatant,  the  aged,  the  defense- 
less. They  fought  on  different  sides  to  settle  for- 
ever a  quarrel  that  was  bequeathed  to  their  gener- 
ation, but  their  fame  is  the  common  inheritance  of 
the  American  people.  The  reader  is  beginning  to 
think  I  am  digressing,  but  he  will  better  under- 
stand what  is  to  come  after  getting  this  glimpse  of 
those  stormy  days  in  the  sixties. 

The  guests  at  the  Springs  were  about  equally 
divided  in  their  sectional  sympathies.  The  gen- 
tlemen were  inclined  to  avoid  all  exciting  discus- 
sions, but  the  ladies  kept  up  a  fire  of  small-arms. 
When  the  mails  came  in,  and  the  latest  news  was 


244  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

read,  comments  were  made  with  flashing  eyes  and 
flushed  cheeks. 

The  Sabbath  morning  dawned  without  a  cloud. 
I  awoke  with  the  earliest  song  of  the  birds,  and 
was  out  before  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  had  touched 
the  mountain-tops.  The  coolness  was  delicious,  and 
the  air  was  filled  with  the  sweet  odors  of  aromatic 
shrubs  and  flowers,  with  a  hint  of  the  pine-forests 
and  balsam -thickets  from  the  higher  altitudes. 
Taking  a  breakfast  solus,  pocket-bible  in  hand  I 
bent  my  steps  up  the  gorge,  often  crossing  the 
brook  that  wound  its  way  among  the  thickets  or 
sung  its  song  at  the  foot  of  the  great  overhanging 
cliffs.  A  shining  trout  would  now  and  then  flash 
like  a  silver  bar  for  a  moment  above  the  shaded 
pools.  With  light  step  a  doe  descending  the 
mountain  came  upon  me,  and,  gazing  at  me  a  mo- 
ment or  two  with  its  soft  eyes,  tripped  away.  In 
a  narrow  pass  where  the  stream  rippled  over  the 
pebbles  between  two  great  walls  of  rock,  a  spotted 
snake  crossed  my  path,  hurrying  its  movement  in 
fright.  Fear  not,  humble  ophidian.  The  war  de- 
clared between  thee  and  me  in  the  fifteenth  verse 
of  the  third  chapter  of  Genesis  is  suspended  for 
this  one  day.  Let  no  creature  die  to-day  but  by 
the  act  of  God.  Here  is  the  lake.  How  beautiful ! 
how  still !  A  land-slide  had  dammed  the  stream 
where  it  flowed  between  steep,  lofty  banks,  back- 


A  DAY.  245 

ing  the  waters  over  a  little  valley  three  or  four 
acres  in  extent,  shut  in  on  all  sides  by  the  wooded 
hills,  the  highest  of  which  rose  from  its  northern 
margin.  Here  is  my  sanctuary,  pulpit,  choir,  and 
altar.  A  gigantic  pine  had  fallen  into  the  lake, 
and  its  larger  branches  served  to  keep  the  trunk 
above  the  water  as  it  lay  parallel  with  the  shore. 
Seated  on  its  trunk,  and  shaded  by  some  friendly 
willows  that  stretch  their  graceful  branches  above, 
the  hours  pass  in  a  sort  of  subdued  ecstasy  of  en- 
joyment. It  is  peace,  the  peace  of  God.  No  echo 
of  the  world's  discords  reaches  me.  The  only 
sound  I  hear  is  the  cooing  of  a  turtle-dove  away 
off  in  a  distant  gorge  of  the  mountain.  It  floats 
down  to  me  on  the  Sabbath  air  with  a  pathos  as  if 
it  voiced  the  pity  of  Heaven  for  the  sorrows  of  a 
world  of  sin,  and  pain,  and  death.  The  shadows 
of  the  pines  are  reflected  in  the  pellucid  depths, 
and  ever  and  anon  the  faintest  hint  of  a  breeze 
sighs  among  their  branches  overhead.  The  lake 
lies  without  a  ripple  below,  except  when  from  time 
to  time  a  gleaming  trout  throws  himself  out  of  the 
water,  and,  falling  with  a  splash,  disturbs  the 
glassy  surface,  the  concentric  circles  showing  where 
he  went  down.  Sport  on,  ye  shiny  denizens  of  the 
deep ;  no  angler  shall  cast  his  deceitful  hook  into 
your  quiet  haunts  this  day.  Through  the  foliage 
of  the  overhanging  boughs  the  blue  sky  is  spread, 


246  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

a  thin,  fleecy  cloud  at  times  floating  slowly  along 
like  a  watching  angel,  and  casting  a  momentary 
shadow  upon  the  watery  mirror  below.  That  sky, 
so  deep  and  so  solemn,  woos  me — lifts  my  thought 
till  it  touches  the  Eternal.  What  mysteries  of 
being  lie  beyond  that  sapphire  sea?  What  won- 
ders shall  burst  upon  the  vision  when  this  mortal 
shall  put  on  immortality?  I  open  the  Book  and 
read.  Isaiah's  burning  song  makes  new  music  to 
my  soul  attuned.  David's  harp  sounds  a  sweeter 
note.  The  words  of  Jesus  stir  to  diviner  depths. 
And  when  I  read  in  the  twenty-first  chapter  of 
Revelation  the  Apocalyptic  promise  of  the  new 
heavens  and  the  new  earth,  and  of  the  New  Jeru- 
salem coming  down  from  God  out  of  heaven,  a  new 
glory  seems  to  rest  upon  sky,  mountain,  forest,  and 
lake,  and  my  soul  is  flooded  with  a  mighty  joy.  I 
am  swimming  in  the  Infinite  Ocean.  Not  beyond 
that  vast  blue  canopy  is  heaven ;  it  is  within  my 
own  ravished  heart!  Thus  the  hours  pass,  but  I 
keep  no  note  of  their  flight,  and  the  evening  shad- 
ows are  on  the  water  before  I  come  back  to  myself 
and  the  world.  O  hallowed  day!  O  hallowed 
spot!  foretaste  and  prophecy  to  the  weary  and 
burden-bowed  soul  of  the  new  heavens  and  the 
new  earth  where  its  blessed  ideal  shall  be  a  more 
blessed  reality! 

It  is  nearly  dark  when  I  get  back  to  the  hotel. 


A  DAY.  247 

Supper  is  over,  but  I  am  not  hungry  —  I  have 
feasted  on  the  bread  of  angels. 

"Did  you  know  there  was  quite  a  quarrel  about 
you  this  morning?"  asks  one  of  the  guests. 

The  words  jar.  In  answer  to  my  look  of  inquiry, 
he  proceeds : 

"There  was  a  dispute  about  your  holding  a  re- 
ligious service  at  the  picnic  grounds.  They  made 
it  a  political  matter — one  party  threatened  to  leave 
if  you  did  preach,  the  other  threatened  to  leave  if 
you  did  not  preach.  There  was  quite  an  excite- 
ment about  it  until  it  was  found  that  you  were 
gone,  and  then  everybody  quieted  down." 

There  is  a  silence.  I  break  it  by  telling  them 
how  I  spent  the  day,  and  then  they  are  very  quiet. 

The  next  Sabbath  every  soul  at  the  place  united 
in  a  request  for  a  religious  service,  the  list  headed 
by  a  high-spirited  and  brilliant  Pennsylvania 
lady  who  had  led  the  opposing  forces  the  previous 
Sunday. 


WINTER-BLOSSOMED. 


I  THINK  I  saw  him  the  first  Sunday  I  preached 
in  San  Jose,  in  1856.  He  was  a  notable-look- 
ing man.  I  felt  attracted  toward  him  by  that  in- 
definable .sympathy  that  draws  together  two  souls 
born  to  be  friends.  I  believe  in  friendship  at  first 
sight.  Who  that  ever  had  a  real  friend  does  not? 
Love  at  first  sight  is  a  different  thing — it  may  be 
divine  and  eternal,  or  it  may  be  a  whim  or  a  pass- 
ing fancy.  Passion  blurs  and  blinds  in  the  region 
of  sexual  love:  friendship  is  revealed  in  its  own 
white  light. 

I  was  introduced  after  the  service  to  the  stranger 
who  had  attracted  my  attention,  and  who  had 
given  the  youthful  preacher  such  a  kind  and 
courteous  hearing. 

"This  is  Major  McCoy." 

He  was  a  full  head  higher  than  anybody  else  as 
he  stood  in  the  aisle.  He  bowed  with  courtly  grace 
as  he  took  my  hand,  and  his  face  lighted  with  a 
(248) 


WINTER-BLOSSOMED.  249 

srhile  that  had  in  it  something  more  than  a  con- 
ventional civility.  I  felt  that  there  was  a  soul  be- 
neath that  dignified  and  courtly  exterior.  His 
head  displayed  great  elevation  of  the  cranium,  and 
unusual  breadth  of  forehead.  It  was  what  is  called 
an  intellectual  head;  and  the  lines  around  the 
eyes  showed  the  traces  of  thought,  and,  as  it  seemed 
to  me,  a  tinge  of  that  sadness  that  nearly  always 
lends  its  charm  to  the  best  faces. 

"  I  have  met  a  man  that  I  know  I  shall  like," 
was  my  gratified  exclamation  to  the  mistress  of  the 
parsonage,  as  I  entered. 

And  so  it  turned  out.  He  became  one  of  the 
select  circle  to  whom  I  applied  the  word  friend  in 
the  sacredest  sense.  This  inner  circle  can  never 
be  large.  If  you  unduly  enlarge  it  you  dilute  the 
quality  of  this  wine  of  life*  We  are  limited. 
There  is  only  One  Heart  large  enough  to  hold  all 
humanity  in  its  inmost  depths. 

My  new  friend  lived  out  among  the  sycamores 
on  the  New  Almaden  Road,  a  mile  from  the  city, 
and  the  cottage  in  which  he  lived  with  his  cultured 
and  loving  household  was  one  of  the  social  para- 
dises of  that  beautiful  valley  in  which  the  breezes 
are  always  cool,  and  the  flowers  never  fade. 

My  friend  interested  me  more  and  more.  He 
had  been  a  soldier,  and  in  the  Mexican  war  won 
distinction  by  his  skill  and  valor.  He  was  with 


250  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

Joe  Lane  and  his  gallant  Indianians  at  Juamant- 
la,  and  his  name  was  specially  mentioned  among 
those  whose  fiery  onsets  had  broken  the  lines  of 
the  swarthy  foe,  and  won  against  such  heavy  odds 
the  bloody  field.  He  was  seldom  absent  from 
church  on  Sunday  morning,  and  now  and  then  his 
inquiring,  thoughtful  face  would  be  seen  in  my 
smaller  audience  at  night.  One  unwelcome  fact 
about  him  pained  me,  while  it  deepened  my  inter- 
est in  him. 

He  was  a  skeptic.  Bred  to  the  profession  of 
medicine  and  surgery,  he  became  bogged  in  the 
depths  of  materialistic  doubt.  The  microscope 
drew  his  thoughts  downward  until  he  could  not  see 
beyond  second  causes.  The  soul,  the  seat  of  which 
the  scalpel  could  not  find,  he  feared  did  not  exist. 
The  action  of  the  brain,  like  that  of  the  heart  and 
lungs,  seemed  to  him  to  be  functional;  and  when 
the  organ  perished  did  not  its  function  cease  for- 
ever? He  doubted  the  fact  of  immortality,  but 
did  not  deny  it.  This  doubt  clouded  his  life.  He 
wanted  to  believe.  His  heart  rebelled  against  the 
negations  of  materialism,  but  his  intellect  was  en- 
tangled in  its  meshes.  The  Great  Question  was 
ever  in  his  thought,  and  the  shadow  was  ever  on 
his  path.  He  read  much  on  both  sides,  and  was 
always  ready  to  talk  with  any  from  whom  he  had 
reason  to  hope  for  new  light  or  a  helpful  sugges- 


WINTER-BLOSSOMED.  251 

tion.  Did  he  also  pray?  We  took  many  long 
rides  and  had  many  long  talks  together.  Pausing 
under  the  shade  of  a  tree  on  the  highway,  the  hours 
would  slip  away  while  we  talked  of  life  and  death, 
and  weighed  the  pros  and  cons  of  the  mighty  hope 
that  we  might  live  again,  until  the  sun  would  be 
sinking  into  the  sea  behind  the  Santa  Cruz  Mount- 
ains, whose  shadows  were  creeping  over  the  valley. 
He  believed  in  a  First  Cause.  The  marks  of  de- 
sign in  Nature  left  in  his  mind  no  room  to  doubt 
that  there  was  a  Designer. 

"The  structure  and  adaptations  of  the  horse 
harnessed  to  the  buggy  in  which  we  sit,  exhibit  the 
infinite  skill  of  a  Creator." 

On  this  basis  I  reasoned  with  him  in  behalf  of 
all  that  is  precious  to  Christian  faith  and  hope, 
trying  to  show  (what  I  earnestly  believe)  that,  ad- 
mitting the  existence  of  God,  it  is  illogical  to 
stop  short  of  a  belief  in  revelation  and  immor- 
tality. 

The  rudest  workman  would  not  fling 
The  fragments  of  his  work  away, 
If  every  useless  bit  of  clay 

lie  trod  on  were  a  sentient  thing. 

And  does  the  Wisest  Worker  take 
Quick  human  hearts,  instead  of  stone, 
And  hew  and  carve  them  one  by  one, 

Nor  heed  the  pangs  with  which  they  break? 


252  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

And  more:  if  but  creation's  waste, 

Would  he  have  given  us  sense  to  yearn 
For  the  perfection  none  can  earn, 

And  hope  the  fuller  life  to  taste? 

I  think,  if  we  must  cease  to  be, 

It  is  cruelty  refined 

To  make  the  instincts  of  our  mind 
Stretch  out  toward  eternity. 

Wherefore  I  welcome  Nature's  cry, 
As  earnest  of  a  life  again, 
Where  thought  shall  never  be  in  vain, 

And  doubt  before  the  light  shall  fly. 

My  talks  with  him  were  helpful  to  me  if  not  to 
him.  In  trying  to  remove  his  doubts  my  own  faith 
was  confirmed,  and  my  range  of  thought  enlarged. 
His  reverent  spirit  left  its  impress  upon  mine. 

"  McCoy  is  a  more  religious  man  than  either  you 
or  I,  Doctor,"  said  Tod  Kobinson  to  me  one  day  in 
reply  to  a  remark  in  which  I  had  given  expression 
to  my  solicitude  for  my  doubting  friend. 

Yes,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  this  man  who  wres- 
tled with  doubts  that  wrung  his  soul  with  intense 
agony,  and  walked  in  darkness  under  the  veil  of 
unbelief,  had  a  healthful  influence  upou  me  be- 
cause the  attitude  of  his  soul  was  that  of  a  rev- 
erent inquirer,  not  that  of  a  scoffer. 

The  admirable  little  treatise  of  Bishop  Mcllvaine, 
011  the  "  Evidences  of  Christianity,"  cleared  away 


WINTER-BLOSSOMED.  253 

Borae  of  his  difficulties.  A  sermon  of  Bishop  Kav- 
anaugh,  preached  at  his  request,  was  a  help  to  him. 
(That  wonderful  discourse  is  spoken  of  elsewhere 
in  this  volume.) 

A  friend  of  his  lay  dying  at  Redwood  City. 
This  friend,  like  himself,  was  a  skeptic,  and  his 
doubts  darkened  his  way  as  he  neared  the  border 
of  the  undiscovered  country.  McCoy  went  to  see 
him.  The  sick  man,  in  the  freedom  of  long  friend- 
ship, opened  his  mind  to  him.  The  arguments  of 
the  good  Bishop  were  yet  fresh  in  McCoy's  mind, 
and  the  echoes  of  his  mighty  appeals  were  still 
sounding  in  his  heart.  Seated  by  the  dying  man, 
he  forgot  his  own  misgivings,  and  with  intense 
earnestness  pointed  the  struggling  soul  to  the  Sav- 
iour of  sinners. 

"I  did  not  intend  it,  but  I  was  impelled  by  a 
feeling  I  could  not  resist.  I  was  surprised  and 
strangely  thrilled  at  my  own  words  as  I  unfolded 
to  my  friend  the  proofs  of  the  truth  of  Christian- 
ity, culminating  in  the  incarnation,  death,  and 
resurrection,  of  Jesus  Christ.  He  seemed  to  have 
grasped  the  truths  as  presented,  a  great  calm  came 
over  him,  and  he  died  a  believer.  No  incident  of 
my  life  has  given  me  a  purer  pleasure  than  this ; 
but  it  was  a  strange  thing!  Nobody  could  have 
had  access  to  him  as  I  had — I,  a  doubter  and  a 
stumbler  all  my  life :  it  looks  like  the  hand  of  God ! " 


254  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

His  voice  was  low,  and  his  eyes  were  wet  as  he 
finished  the  narration. 

Yes,  the  hand  of  God  was  in  it — it  is  in  every 
good  thing  that  takes  place  on  earth.  By  the  bed- 
side of  a  dying  friend,  the  undercurrent  of  faith 
in  his  warm  and  noble  heart  swept  away  for  the 
time  the  obstructions  that  were  in  his  thought,  and 
bore  him  to  the  feet  of  the  blessed,  pitying  Christ, 
who  never  breaks  a  bruised  reed.  I  think  he  had 
more  light,  and  felt  stronger  ever  after. 

Death  twice  entered  his  home-circle — once  to 
convey  a  budding  flower  from  the  earth-home  to 
the  skies,  and  again  like  a  lightning-stroke  laying 
young  manhood  low  in  a  moment.  The  instinct 
within  him,  stronger  than  doubt,  turned  his  thought 
in  those  dark  hours  toward  God.  The  ashes  of  the 
earthly  hopes  that  had  perished  in  the  fire  of  fierce 
calamity,  and  the  tears  of  a  grief  unspeakable, 
fertilized  and  watered  the  seed  of  faith  which  was 
surely  in  his  heart.  The  hot  furnace-fire  did  not 
harden  this  finely -tempered  soul.  But  still  he 
walked  in  darkness,  doubting,  doubting,  doubting 
all  he  most  wished  to  believe.  It  was  the  infirmity 
of  his  constitution,  and  the  result  of  his  surround- 
ings. He  went  into  large  business  enterprises  with 
mingled  success  and  disappointment.  He  went 
into  politics,  and  though  he  bore  himself  nobly 
and  gallantly,  it  need  not  be  said  that  fhat  vortex 


WINTER-BLOSSOMED.  255 

does  not  usually  draw  those  who  are  within  its 
whirl  heavenward.  He  won  some  of  the  prizes 
that  were  fought  for  in  that  arena  where  the  no- 
blest are  in  danger  of  being  soiled,  and  where  the 
baser  metal  sinks  surely  to  the  bottom  by  the  inev- 
itable force  of  moral  gravitation. 

From  time  to  time  we  were  thrown  together,  and 
I  was  glad  to  know  that  the  Great  Question  was 
still  in  his  thought,  and  the  hunger  for  truth  was 
still  in  his  heart.  Ill  health  sometimes  made  him 
irritable  and  morbid,  but  the  drift  of  his  inner 
nature  was  unchanged.  His  mind  was  enveloped 
in  mists,  and  sometimes  tempests  of  despair  raged 
within  him;  but  his  heart  still  thirsted  for  the 
water  of  life. 

A  painful  and  almost  fatal  railway  accident  be- 
fell him.  He  was  taken  to  his  ranch  among  the 
quiet  hills  of  Shasta  County.  This  was  the  final 
crisis  in  his  life.  Shut  out  from  the  world,  and 
shut  in  with  his  own  thoughts  and  with  God,  he 
reviewed  his  life  and  the  argument  that  had  so 
long  been  going  on  in  his  mind.  He  was  no.w 
quiet  enough  to  hear  distinctly  the  Still  Small 
Voice  whose  tones  he  could  only  half  discern  amid 
the  clamors  of  the  world  when  he  was  a  busy  actor 
on  its  stage.  Nature  spoke  to  him  among  the  hills, 
and  her  voice  is  God's.  The  great  primal  instincts 
of  the  soul,  repressed  in  the  crowd  or  driven  into 


258 


CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 


the  background  by  the  mob  of  petty  cares  and 
wants,  now  had  free  play  in  the  nature  of  this  man 
whose  soul  had  so  long  cried  out  of  the  depths  for 
the  living  God.  He  prayed  the  simple  prayer  of 
trust  at  which  the  gate  flies  open  for  the  believing 
soul  to  enter  into  the  peace  of  God.  He  was  born 
into  the  new  life.  The  flower  that  had  put  forth 
its  abortive  buds  for  so  many  seasons,  burst  into 
full  bloom  at  last.  With  the  mighty  joy  in  his 
heart,  and  the  light  of  the  immortal  hope  beaming 
upon  him,  he  passed  into  the  World  of  Certainties. 


A  VIRGINIAN  IN  CALIFOENIA. 


HARD  at  it,  are  you,  uncle?" 
"No,  sah — I's  workin'  by  de  day,  an'  I 
an't  a-hurtin'  myself." 

This  answer  was  given  with  a  jolly  laugh  as  the 
old  man  leaned  on  his  pick  and  looked  at  me. 

"  You  looked  so  much  like  home-folks  that  I  felt 
like  speaking  to  you.  Where  are  you  from?" 

"  From  Virginny,  sah ! "  (pulling  himself  up  to 
his  full  height  as  he  spoke).  "Where's  you  from, 
Massa?" 

"  I  was  brought  up  partly  in  Virginia  too." 

"  Whar'bouts  in  Virginny?" 

"Mostly  in  Lynchburg." 

"Lynchburg!  dat's  whar  I  was  fetched  up.  I 
belonged  to  de  Widder  Tate,  dat  lived  on  de  New 
London  Road.  Gib  me  yer  han',  Massa! " 

He  rushed  up  to  the  buggy,  and  taking  my  ex- 
tended hand  in  hi  huge  fist  he  shook  it  heartily, 
grinning  with  delight. 

17  (2.r>7) 


258  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

This  was  Uncle  Joe,  a  perfect  specimen  of  the 
old  Virginia  "  Uncle,"  who  had  found  his  way  to 
California  in  the  early  days.  Yes,  he  was  a  per- 
fect specimen  —  black  as  night,  his  lower  limbs 
crooked,  arms  long,  hands  and  feet  very  large. 
His  mouth  was  his  most  striking  feature.  It  was 
the  orator's  mouth  in  size,  being  larger  than  that 
of  Henry  Clay  —  in  fact,  it  ran  almost  literally 
from  ear  to  ear.  When  he  opened  it  fully,  it  was 
like  lifting  the  lid  of  a  box. 

Uncle  Joe  and  I  became  good  friends  at  once. 
He  honored  my  ministry  with  his  presence  on  Sun- 
days. There  was  a  touch  of  dandyism  in  him  that 
then  and  there  came  out.  Clad  in  a  blue  broad- 
cloth dress-coat  of  the  olden  cut,  vest  to  match, 
tight -fitting  pantaloons,  stove-pipe  hat,  and  yel- 
low kid  gloves,  he  was  a  gorgeous  object  to  be- 
hold. He  knew  it,  and  there  was  a  pleasant  self- 
consciousness  in  the  way  he  bore  himself  in  the 
sanctuary. 

Uncle  Joe  was  the  heartiest  laugher  I  ever 
knew.  He  was  always  as  full  of  happy  life  as  a 
frisky  colt  or  a  plump  pig.  When  he  entered  a 
knot  of  idlers  on  the  streets,  it  was  the  signal  for 
a  humorous  uproar.  His  quaint  sayings,  witty 
repartee,  and  contagious  laughter,  never  failed. 
He  was  as  agile  as  a  monkey,  and  his  dancing  was 
a  marvel.  For  a  dime  he  would  "cut  the  pigeon- 


A  VIRGINIAN  IN  CALIFORNIA.         259 

wing,"  or  give  a  "double-shuffle"  or  "breakdown" 
in  a  way  that  made  the  beholder  dizzy. 

What  was  Uncle  Joe's  age  nobody  could  guess — 
he  had  passed  the  line  of  probable  surmising.  His 
own  version  of  the  matter  on  a  certain  occasion 
was  curious.  We  had  a  colored  female  servant — 
an  old-fashioned  aunty  from  Mississippi — who,  with 
a  bandanna  handkerchief  on  her  head,  went  about 
the  house  singing  the  old  Methodist  choruses  so 
naturally  that  it  gave  us  a  home-feeling  to  have 
her  about  us.  Uncle  Joe  and  Aunt  Tishy  became 
good  friends,  and  he  got  into  the  habit  of  dropping 
in  at  the  parsonage  on  Sunday  evenings  to  escort 
her  to  church.  On  this  particular  occasion  I  was 
in  the  little  study  adjoining  the  dining-room  where 
Aunt  Tishy  was  engaged  in  cleaning  away  the 
dishes  after  tea.  I  was  not  eavesdropping,  but 
could  not  help  hearing  what  they  said.  My  name 
was  mentioned. 

"O  yes,"  said  Uncle  Joe;  "I  knowed  Massa 
Fitchjarals  back  dar  in  Virginny.  I  use  ter  hear 
7im  preach  dar  when  I  was  a  boy." 

There  was  a  silence.  Aunt  Tishy  could  n't 
swallow  that.  Uncle  Joe's  statement,  if  true, 
would  have  made  me  more  than  a  hundred  years 
old,  or  brought  him  down  to  less  than  forty.  The 
latter  was  his  object;  he  wanted  to  impress  Aunt 
Tishy  with  the  idea  that  lie  was  young  enough  to 


260  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

be  an  eligible  gallant  to  any  lady.  But  it  failed. 
That  unfortunate  remark  ruined  Uncle  Joe's  pros- 
pects: Aunt  Tishy  positively  refused  to  go  with 
him  to  church,  and  just  as  soon  as  he  had  left  she 
went  into  the  sitting-room  in  high  disgust,  saying: 

"What  made  clat  nigger  tell  me  a  lie  like  dat? 
Tut,  tut,  tut!" 

She  cut  him  ever  after,  saying  she  would  n't  keep 
company  with  a  liar, "  even  if  he  was  from  de  Souf." 
Aunt  Tishy  was  a  good  woman,  and  had  some  old- 
time  notions.  As  a  cook,  she  was  discounted  a  lit- 
tle by  the  fact  that  she  used  tobacco,  and  when  it 
got  into  the  gravy  it  was  not  improving  to  its  flavor. 

Uncle  Joe  was  in  his  glory  at  a  dinner-party, 
where  he  could  wait  on  the  guests,  give  droll  an- 
swers to  the  remarks  made  to  call  him  out,  and 
enliven  the  feast  by  his  inimitable  and  "catching" 
laugh.  In  a  certain  circle  no  occasion  of  the 
sort  was  considered  complete  without  his  presence. 
There  was  no  such  thing  as  dullness  when  he  was 
about.  His  peculiar  wit  or  his  simplicity  was 
brought  out  at  a  dinner-party  one  day  at  Dr.  Bas- 
com's.  There  was  a  large  gathering  of  the  lead- 
ing families  of  San  Jose  and  vicinity,  and  Uncle 
Joe  was  there  in  his  jolliest  mood.  Mrs.  Bascom, 
whose  wit  was  then  the  quickest  and  keenest  in  all 
California,  presided,  and  enough  good  things  were 
said  to  have  made  a  reputation  for  Sidney  Smith 


A  VIRGINIAN  IN  CALIFORNIA.         261 

or  Douglas  Jerrold.  Mrs.  Bascom,  herself  a  Vir- 
ginian by  extraction,  had  engaged  in  a  laughing 
colloquy  with  Uncle  Joe,  who  stood  near  the  head 
of  the  table  waving  a  bunch  of  peacock's  feathers 
to  keep  off  the  flies. 

"Missus,  who  is  yer  kinfolks  back  dar  in  Vir- 
giniiy,  any  way?" 

The  names  of  several  were  mentioned. 

"  Why,  dem  's  big  folks,"  said  Uncle  Joe. 

"Yes,"  said  she,  laughingly;  "I  belong  to  the 
first  families  of  Virginia." 

"I  do  n't  know 'bout  dat,  Missus.  I  was  dar 
'fore  you  was,  an'  I  do  n't  'long  to  de  fus'  fam- 
ilies ! " 

He  looked  at  it  from  a  chronological  rather 
than  a  genealogical  stand-point,  and,  strange  to 
say,  the  familiar  phrase  had  never  been  heard  by 
him  before. 

Uncle  Joe  joined  the  Church.  He  was  sincere 
in  his  profession.  The  proof  was  found  in  the 
fact  that  he  quit  dancing.  No  more  "pigeon- 
wings,"  "double -shuffles,"  or  "breakdowns,"  for 
him — he  was  a  "perfessor."  He  was  often  tempted 
by  the  offer  of  coin,  but  he  stood  firm. 

"  No,  sah ;  I 's  done  dancin',  an'  do  n't  want  to 
be  discommunicated  from  de  Church,"  he  would 
say,  good-naturedly,  as  he  shied  off,  taking  himself 
away  from  temptation. 


262  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

A  very  high  degree  of  spirituality  could  hardly 
be  expected  from  Uncle  Joe  at  that  late  day;  but 
he  was  a  Christian  after  a  pattern  of  his  own — 
kind-hearted,  grateful,  simple-minded,  and  full  of 
good  humor.  His  strength  gradually  declined, 
and  he  was  taken  to  the  county  hospital,  where  his 
patience  and  cheerfulness  conciliated  and  elicited 
kind  treatment  from  everybody.  His  memories 
went  back  to  old  Virginia,  and  his  hopes  looked 
up  to  the  heaven  of  which  his  notions  were  as 
simple  as  those  of  a  little  child.  In  the  simplicity 
of  a  child's  faith  he  had  come  to  Jesus,  and  I 
doubt  not  was  numbered  among  his  little  ones. 
Among  the  innumerable  company  that  shall  be 
gathered  on  Mount  Zion  from  every  kindred,  tribe, 
and  tongue,  I  hope  to  meet  my  humble  friend, 
Uncle  Joe. 


AT  THE  END. 


AMONG  my  acquaintances  at  San  Jose,  in 
1863,  was  a  young  Kentuckian  who  had 
come  down  from  the  mines  in  bad  health.  The 
exposure  of  mining -life  had  been  too  severe  for 
him.  It  took  iron  constitutions  to  stand  all  day 
in  almost  ice-cold  water  up  to  the  waist  with  a  hot 
sun  pouring  down  its  burning  rays  upon  the  head 
and  upper  part  of  the  body.  Many  a  poor  fellow 
sunk  under  it  at  once,  and  after  a  few  days  of  fever 
and  delirium  was  taken  to  the  top  of  an  adjacent 
hill  and  laid  to  rest  by  the  hands  of  strangers. 
Others,  crippled  by  rheumatic  and  neuralgic  trou- 
bles, drifted  into  the  hospitals  of  San  Francisco, 
or  turned  their  faces  sadly  toward  the  old  homes 
which  they  had  left  with  buoyant  hopes  and  elastic 
footsteps.  Others  still,  like  this  young  Kentuck- 
ian, came  down  into  the  valleys  with  the  hacking 
cough  and  hectic  flush  to  make  a  vain  struggle 
against  the  destroyer  that  had  fastened  upon  their 

(263) 


264  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

vitals,  nursing  often  a  vain  hope  of  recovery  to  the 
very  last.  Ah,  remorseless  flatterer!  as  I  write 
these  lines,  the  images  of  your  victims  crowd  be- 
fore my  vision :  the  strong  men  that  grew  weak, 
and  pale,  and  thin,  but  fought  to  the  last  inch  for 
life;  the  noble  youths  who  were  blighted  just  as 
they  began  to  bloom ;  the  beautiful  maidens  ethe- 
realized  into  almost  more  than  mortal  beauty  by 
the  breath  of  the  death-angel,  as  autumn  leaves, 
touched  by  the  breath  of  winter,  blush  with  the 
beauty  of  decay.  My  young  friend  indulged  no 
false  hopes.  He  knew  he  was  doomed  to  early 
death,  and  did  not  shrink  from  the  thought.  One 
day,  as  we  were  conversing  in  a  store  up-town,  he 
said: 

"  I  know  that  I  have  at  most  but  a  few  months 
to  live,  and  I  want  to  spend  them  in  making  prep- 
aration to  die.  You  will  oblige  me  by  advising 
me  what  books  to  read.  I  want  to  get  clear  views 
of  what  I  am  to  do,  and  then  do  it/' 

It  need  scarcely  be  said  that  I  most  readily 
complied  with  his  request,  and  that  first  and 
chiefly  I  advised  him  to  consult  the  Bible,  as 
the  light  to  his  path  and  the  lamp  to  his  feet. 
Other  books  were  suggested,  and  a  word  with 
regard  to  prayerful  reading  was  given,  and  kindly 
received. 

One  day  I  went  over  to  see  my  friend.     Enter- 


AT  THE  END.  265 

ing  his  room,  I  found  him  sitting  by  the  fire  with 
a  table  by  his  side,  on  which  was  lying  a  Bible. 
There  was  an  unusual  flush  in  his  face,  and  his  eye 
burned  with  unusual  brightness. 

"How  are  you  to-day?"  I  asked. 

"I  am  annoyed,  sir — I  am  indignant,"  he  said. 

"What  is  the  matter?'7 

"Mr. ,  the preacher,  has  just  left  me. 

He  told  me  that  my  soul  cannot  be  saved  unless  I 
perform  two  miracles:  I  must,  he  said,  think  of 
nothing  but  religion,  and  be  baptized  by  immer- 
sion. I  am  very  weak,  and  cannot  fully  control 
my  mental  action  —  my  thoughts  will  wander  in 
spite  of  myself.  As  to  being  put  under  the  water, 
that  would  be  immediate  death;  it  would  bring  on 
a  hemorrhage  of  the  lungs,  and  kill  me." 

He  leaned  his  head  on  the  table  and  panted  for 
breath,  his  thin  chest  heaving.  I  answered: 

"Mr. is  a  good  man,  but  narrow.  He 

meant  kindly  in  the  foolish  words  he  spoke  to  you. 
No  man,  sick  or  well,  can  so  control  the  action  of 
his  mind  as  to  force  his  thoughts  wholly  into  one 
channel.  I  cannot  do  it,  neither  can  any  other 
man.  God  requires  no  such  absurdity  of  you  or 
anybody  else.  As  to  being  immersed,  that  seems 
to  be  a  physical  impossibility,  and  he  surely  does 
not  demand  what  is  impossible.  My  friend,  it 
really  makes  little  difference  what  Mr.  -  —  says, 


2GG  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

or  what  I  say,  concerning  this  matter.  What  does 
God  say?  Let  us  see." 

I  took  up  the  Bible,  and  he  turned  a  face  upon 
me  expressing  the  most  eager  interest.  The  blessed 
Book  seemed  to  open  of  itself  to  the  very  words 
that  were  wanted.  "  Like  as  a  father  pitieth  his 
children,  so  the  Lord  pitieth  them  that  fear  him." 
"He  knoweth  our  frame,  and  remembereth  that 
we  are  dust."  "  Ho,  every  one  that  thirsteth,  come 
to  the  waters." 

Glancing  at  him  as  I  read,  I  was  struck  with 
the  intensity  of  his  look  as  he  drank  in  every  word. 
A  traveler  dying  of  thirst  in  the  desert  could  not 
clutch  a  cup  of  cold  water  more  eagerly  than  he 
grasped  these  tender  words  of  the  pitying  Father 
in  heaven. 

I  read  the  words  of  Jesus :  "  Come  unto  me  all 
ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy-laden,  and  I  will  give 
you  rest."  "  Him  that  cometh  unto  me  I  will  in 
no  wise  cast  out." 

"This  is  what  God  says  to  you,  and  these  are  the 
only  conditions  of  acceptance.  Nothing  is  said 
about  any  thing  but  the  desire  of  your  heart  and 
the  purpose  of  your  soul.  O  my  friend,  these 
words  are  for  you!" 

The  great  truth  flashed  upon  his  mind,  and 
flooded  it  with  light.  He  bent  his  head  and  wept. 
We  knelt  and  prayed  together,  and  when  we  rose 


AT  THE  END.  267 

from  our  knees  he  said  softly,  as  the  tears  stole 
down  his  face : 

"  It  is  all  right  now — I  see  it  clearly ;  I  see  it 
clearly!" 

We  quietly  clasped  hands,  and  sat  in  silent  sym- 
pathy. There  was  no  need  for  any  words'  from 
me;  God  had  spoken,  and  that  was  enough.  Our 
hearts  were  singing  together  the  song  without  words. 

"  You  have  found  peace  at  the  cross — let  nothing 
disturb  it,"  I  said,  as  he  pressed  my  hand  at  the 
door  as  we  left. 

It  never  was  disturbed.  The  days  that  had 
dragged  so  wearily  and  anxiously  during  the  long, 
long  months,  were  now  full  of  brightness.  A  sub- 
dued joy  shone  in  his  face,  and  his  voice  was  low 
and  tender  as  he  spoke  of  the  blessed  change  that 
had  passed  upon  him.  The  Book  whose  words  had 
been  light  and  life  to  him  was  often  in  his  hand, 
or  lay  open  on  the  little  table  in  his  room.  He 
never  lost  his  hold  upon  the  great  truth  he  had 
grasped,  nor  abated  in  the  fullness  of  his  joy.  I 
was  with  him  the  night  he  died.  He  knew  the  end 
was  at  hand,  and  the  thought  filled  him  with  sol- 
emn joy.  His  eyes  kindled,  and  his  wasted  feat- 
ures fairly  blazed  with  rapture  as  he  said,  holding 
my  hand  with  both  of  his: 

"I  am  glad  it  will  all  soon  be  over.  My  peace 
has  been  unbroken  since  that  morning  when  God 


268  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

sent  you  to  me.     I  feel  a  strange,  solemn  joy  at 
the  thought  that  I  shall  soon  know  all/' 

Before  day-break  the  great  mystery  was  disclosed 
to  him,  and  as  he  lay  in  his  coffin  next  day,  the 
smile  that  lingered  on  his  lips  suggested  the  thought 
that  he  had  caught  a  hint  of  the  secret  while  yet 
in  the  body. 

Among  the  casual  hearers  that  now  and  then 
dropped  in  to  hear  a  sermon  in  Sonora,  in  the  early 
days  of  my  ministry  there,  was  a  man  who  inter- 
ested me  particularly.  He  was  at  that  time  edit- 
ing one  of  the  papers  of  the  town,  which  sparkled 
with  the  flashes  of  his  versatile  genius.  He  was  a 
true  Bohemian,  who  had  seen  many  countries,  and 
knew  life  in  almost  all  its  phases.  He  had  written 
a  book  of  adventure  which  found  many  readers 
and  admirers.  An  avowed  skeptic,  he  was  yet 
respectful  in  his  allusions  to  sacred  things,  and  I 
am  sure  his  editorial  notices  of  the  pulpit  efforts 
of  a  certain  young  preacher  who  had  much  to 
learn  were  more  than  just.  He  was  a  brilliant 
talker,  with  a  vein  of  enthusiasm  that  was  very 
delightful.  His  spirit  was  generous  and  frank, 
and  I  never  heard  from  his  lips  an  unkind  word 
concerning  any  human  being.  Even  his  partisan 
editorials  were  free  from  the  least  tinge  of  asperity 
— and  this  is  a  supreme  test  of  a  sweet  and  courte- 


AT  THE  END.  269 

ous  nature.  In  our  talks  he  studiously  evaded  the 
one  subject  most  interesting  to  me.  With  gentle 
and  delicate  skill  he  parried  all  my  attempts  to 
introduce  the  subject  of  religion  in  our  conversa- 
tions. 

"I  can't  agree  with  you  on  that  subject,  and  we 
will  let  it  pass,"  he  would  say,  with  a  smile,  and 
then  he  would  start  some  other  topic,  and  rattle  on 
delightfully  in  his  easy,  rapid  way. 

He  could  not  stay  long  at  a  place,  being  a  con- 
firmed wanderer.  He  left  Sonora,  and  I  lost  sight 
of  him.  Retaining  a  very  kindly  feeling  for  this 
gentle-spirited  and  pleasant  adventurer,  I  was  loth 
thus  to  lose  all  trace  of  him.  Meeting  a  friend  one 
day,  on  J  Street,  in  the  city,  of  Sacramento,  he  said  : 

"  Your  old  friend  D —  -  is  at  the  Golden  Eagle 
hotel.  You  ought  to  go  and  see  him." 

I  went  at  once.  Ascending  to  the  third  story,  I 
found  his  room,  and,  knocking  at  the  door,  a  feeble 
voice  bade  me  enter.  I  was  shocked  at  the  spec- 
tacle that  met  my  gaze.  Propped  in  an  arm-chair 
in  the  middle  of  the  room,  wasted  to  a  skeleton, 
and  of  a  ghastly  pallor,  sat  the  unhappy  man. 
His  eyes  gleamed  with  an  unnatural  brightness, 
and  his  features  wore  a  look  of  intense  suffering. 

"  You  have  come  too  late,  sir,"  he  said,  before  I 
had  time  to  say  a  word.  "You  can  do  me  no  good 
now.  I  have  been  sitting;  in  this  chair  three  weeks. 


270  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

I  could  not  live  a  minute  in  any  other  position. 
Hell  could  not  be  worse  than  the  tortures  I  have 
suffered!  I  thank  you  for  coming  to  see  me,  but 
you  can  do  me  no  good — none,  none ! " 

He  paused,  panting  for  breath;  and  then  he 
continued,  in  a  soliloquizing  way: 

"I  played  the  fool,  making  a  joke  of  what  was 
no  joking  matter.  It  is  too  late.  I  can  neither 
think  nor  pray,  if  praying  would  do  any  good.  I 
can  only  suffer,  suffer,  suffer !  " 

The  painful  interview  soon  ended.  To  every 
cheerful  or  hopeful  suggestion  which  I  made  he 
gave  but  the  one  reply: 

" Too  late!" 

The  unspeakable  anguish  of  his  look,  as  his  eyes 
followed  me  to  the  door,  haunted  me  for  many  a 
day,  and  the  echo  of  his  words,  "Too  late!"  lin- 
gered sadly  upon  my  ear.  When  I  saw  the  an- 
nouncement of  his  death,  a  few  days  afterward,  I 
asked  myself  the  solemn  question,  Whether  I  had 
dealt  faithfully  with  this  light-hearted,  gifted  man 
when  he  was  within  my  reach.  His  last  look  is 
before  me  now,  as  I  pencil  these  lines. 

"John  A is  dying  over  on  the  Portrero,  and 

his  family  wants  you  to  go  over  and  see  him." 

It  was  while  I  was  pastor  in  San  Francisco. 
A—  -  was  a  member  of  my  Church,  and  lived  on 


AT  THE  END.  271 

what  was  called  the  Portrero,  in  the  southern  part 
of  the  city,  beyond  the  Long  Bridge.  It  was  after 
night  when  I  reached  the  little  cottage  on  the  slope 
above  the  bay. 

"  He  is  dying  and  delirious,"  said  a  member  of 
the  family,  as  I  entered  the  room  where  the  sick 
man  lay.  His  wife,  a  woman  of  peculiar  traits 
and  great  religious  fervor,  and  a  large  number  of 
children  and  grandchildren,  were  gathered  in  the 
dying  man's  chamber  and  the  adjoining  rooms. 
The  sick  man — a  man  of  large  and  powerful  frame 
— was  restlessly  tossing  and  moving  his  limbs,  mut- 
tering incoherent  words,  with  now  and  then  a  burst 
of  uncanny  laughter.  When  shaken,  he  would 
open  his  eyes  for  an  instant,  make  some  meaning- 
less ejaculation,  and  then  they  would  close  again. 
The  wife  was  very  anxious  that  he  should  have  a 
lucid  interval  while  I  was  there. 

"O  I  cannot  bear  to  have  him  die  without  a 
word  of  farewell  and  comfort!"  she  said,  weeping. 

The  hours  wore  on,  and  the  dying  man's  pulse 
showed  that  he  was  sinking  steadily.  Still  he  lay 
unconscious,  moaning  and  gibbering,  tossing  from 
side  to  side  as  far  as  his  failing  strength  permitted. 
His  wife  would  stand  and  gaze  at  him  a  few  mo- 
ments, and  then  walk  the  floor  in  agony. 

"He  can't  last  much  longer/'  said  a  visitor,  who 
felt  his  pulse  and  found  it  almost  gone,  while  his 


272  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

breathing  became  more  labored.  We  waited  in 
silence.  A  thought  seemed  to  strike  the  wife. 
Without  saying  a  word,  she  climbed  upon  the  bed, 
took  her  dying  husband's  head  upon  her  lap,  and, 
bending  close  above  his  face,  began  to  sing.  It 
was  a  melody  I  had  never  heard  before — low,  and 
sweet,  and  quaint.  The  effect  was  weird  and 
thrilling  as  the  notes  fell  tremulous  from  the  sing- 
er's lips  in  the  hush  of  that  dead  hour  of  the  night. 
Presently  the  dying  man  became  more  quiet,  and 
before  the  song  was  finished  he  opened  his  eyes  as 
a  smile  swept  over  his  face,  and  as  his  glance  fell 
on  me  I  saw  that  he  knew  me.  He  called  my 
name,  and  looked  up  in  the  face  that  bent  above 
his  own,  and  kissed  it. 

"  Thank  God ! "  his  wife  exclaimed,  her  hot  tears 
falling  on  his  face,  that  wore  a  look  of  strange  se- 
renity. Then  she  half  whispered  to  me,  her  face 
beaming  with  a  softened  light : 

"That  old  song  was  one  we  used  to  sing  together 
when  we  were  first  married  in  Baltimore." 

On  the  stream  of  music  and  memory  he  had 
floated  back  to  consciousness,  called  by  the  love 
whose  instinct  is  deeper  and  truer  than  all  the 
science  and  philosophy  in  the  world. 

At  dawn  he  died,  his  mind  clear,  and  the  voice 
of  prayer  in  his  ears,  and  a  look  of  rapture  in  his 
face. 


AT  THE  END.  273 

Dan  W ,  whom  I  had  known  in  the  mines 

in  the  early  days,  had  come  to  San  Jose  about  the 
time  my  pastorate  in  the  place  began.  He  kept  a 
meat-market,  and  was  a  most  genial,  accommodat- 
ing, and  good-natured  fellow.  Everybody  liked 
him,  and  he  seemed  to  like  everybody.  His  ani- 
mal spirits  were  unfailing,  and  his  face  never  re- 
vealed the  least  trace  of  worry  or  care.  He  "  took 
things  easy,"  and  never  quarreled  with  his  luck. 
Such  men  are  always  popular,  and  Dan  was  a  gen- 
eral favorite,  as  the  generous  and  honest  fellow 
deserved  to  be.  Hearing  that  he  was  very  sick,  I 
went  to  see  him.  I  found  him  very  low,  but  he 
greeted  me  with  a  smile. 

"How  are  you  to-day,  Dan?"  I  asked,  in  the 
off-hand  way  of  the  old  times. 

"It  is  all  up  with  me,  I  guess/'  he  replied, paus- 
ing to  get  breath  between  the  words;  "the  doctor 
says  I  can't  get  out  of  this — I  must  leave  in  a  day 
or  two." 

He  spoke  in  a  matter-of-fact  way,  indicating  that 
he  intended  to  take  death,  as  he  had  taken  life,  easy. 

"  How  do  you  feel  about  changing  worlds,  my 
old  friend?" 

"  I  have  no  say  in  the  matter.  I  have  got  to  go, 
and  that  is  all  there  is  of  it." 

That  was  all  I  ever  got  out  of  him.  He  told 
me  he  had  not  been  to  church  for  ten  years,  as  "it 
18 


274  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

was  not  in  his  line."  He  did  not  understand  mat- 
ters of  that  sort*  he  said,  as  his  business  was  run- 
ning a  meat-market.  He  intended  no  disrespect 
to  me  or  to  sacred  things — this  was  his  way  of  put- 
ting the  matter  in  his  simple-heartedness. 

"Shall  I  kneel  here  and  pray  with  you?"  I 
asked. 

"No;  you  needn't  take  the  trouble,  parson,"  he 
said,  gently;  "you  see  I've  got  to  go,  and  that's 
all  there  is  of  it.  I  do  n't  understand  that  sort  of 
thing — it  Js  not  in  my  line,  you  see.  I  Jve  been  in 
the  meat  business." 

"Excuse  me,  my  old  friend,  if  I  ask  if  you  do 
not,  as  a  dying  man,  have  some  thoughts  about 
God  and  eternity?" 

"That 's  not  in  my  line,  and  I  could  n't  do  much 
thinking  now  any  way.  It 's  all  right,  parson — I  've 
got  to  go,  and  Old  Master  will  do  right  about  it." 

Thus  he  died  without  a  prayer,  and  without  a 
fear,  and  his  case  is  left  to  the  theologians  who  can 
understand  it,  and  to  the  "Old  Master"  who  will 
do  right. 

I  was  called  to  see  a  lady  who  was  dying  at 
North  Beach,  San  Francisco.  Her  history  was  a 
singularly  sad  one,  illustrating  the  ups  and  downs 
of  California  life  in  a  startling  manner.  From 
opulence  to  poverty,  and  from  poverty  to  sorrow, 


AT  THE  END.  275 

and  from  sorrow  to  death — these  were  the  acts  in 
the  drama,  and  the  curtain  was  about  to  fall  on 
the  last.  On  a  previous  visit  I  had  pointed  the 
poor  sufferer  to  the  Lamb  of  God,  and  prayed  at 
her  bedside,  leaving  her  calm  and  tearful.  Her 
only  daughter,  a  sweet,  fresh  girl  of  eighteen,  had 
two  years  ago  betrothed  herself  to  a  young  man 
from  Oregon,  who  had  come  to  San  Francisco  to 
study  a  profession.  The  dying  mother  had  ex- 
pressed a  desire  to  see  them  married  before  her 
death,  and  I  had  been  sent  for  to  perform  the  cer- 
emony. 

"She  is  unconscious,  poor  thing!"  said  a  lady 
who  was  in  attendance,  "  and  she  will  fail  of  her 
dearest  wish." 

The  dying  mother  lay  with  a  flushed  face,  breath- 
ing painfully,  with  closed  eyes,  and  moaning  pite- 
ously.  Suddenly  her  eyes  opened,  and  she  glanced 
inquiringly  around  the  room.  They  understood 
her.  The  daughter  and  her  betrothed  were  sent 
for.  The  mother's  face  brightened  as  they  entered, 
and  she  turned  to  me  and  said,  in  a  faint  voice: 

"Go  on  with  the  ceremony,  or  it  will  be  too 
late  for  me.  God  bless  you,  darling!"  she  added 
as  the  daughter  bent  down  sobbing,  and  kissed  her. 

The  bridal  couple  kneeled  together  by  the  bed 
of  death,  and  the  assembled  friends  stood  around 
in  solemn  silence,  while  the  beautiful  formula  of  the 


276  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

Church  was  repeated,  the  dying  mother's  eyes  rest- 
ing upon  the  kneeling  daughter  with  an  expression 
of  unutterable  tenderness.  When  the  vows  were 
taken  that  made  them  one,  and  their  hands  were 
clasped  in  token  of  plighted  faith,  she  drew  them 
both  to  her  in  a  long  embrace,  and  then  almost 
instantly  closed  her  eyes  with  a  look  of  infinite 
restfulness,  and  never  opened  them  again. 

Of  the  notable  men  I  met  in  the  mines  in  the 
early  days,  there  was  one  who  piqued  and  puzzled 
my  curiosity.  He  had  the  face  of  a  saint  with  the 
habits  of  a  debauchee.  His  pale  and  student-like 
features  were  of  the  most  classic  mold,  and  their 
expression  singularly  winning,  save  when  at  times 
a  cynical  sneer  would  suddenly  flash  over  them 
like  a  cloud-shadow  over  a  quiet  landscape.  He 
was  a  lawyer,  and  stood  at  the  head  of  the  bar. 
He  was  an  orator  whose  silver  voice  and  magnetic 
qualities  often  kindled  the  largest  audiences  into 
the  wildest  enthusiasm.  Nature  had  denied  him 
no  gift  of  body  or  mind  requisite  to  success  in  life; 
but  there  was  a  fatal  weakness  in  his  moral  consti- 
tution. He  was  an  inveterate  gambler,  his  large 
professional  earnings  going  into  the  coffers  of  the 
faro  and  monte  dealers.  His  violations  of  good 
morals  in  other  respects  were  flagrant.  He  worked 
hard  by  day,  and  gave  himself  up  to  his  vices  at 


AT  THE  END.  -277 

night.  Public  opinion  was  not  very  exacting  in 
those  days,  and  his  failings  were  condoned  by  a 
people  who  respected  force  and  pluck,  and  made 
no  close  inquiries  into  a  man's  private  life,  because 
it  would  have  been  no  easy  thing  to  find  one  who, 
on  the  score  of  innocence,  was  entitled  to  cast  the 
first  stone.  Thus  he  lived  from  year  to  year,  in- 
creasing his  reputation  as  a  lawyer  of  marked 
ability,  and  as  a  politician  whose  eloquence  in 
every  campaign  was  a  tower  of  strength  to  his 
party.  His  fame  spread  ontil  it  filled  the  State, 
and  his  money  still  fed  his  vices.  He  never  drank, 
and  that  cool,  keen  intellect  never  lost  its  balance, 
or  failed  him  in  any  encounter  on  the  hustings  01 
at  the  bar.  I  often  met  him  in  public,  but  he 
never  was  known  to  go  inside  a  church.  Once, 
when  in  a  street  conversation  I  casually  made  some 
reference  to  religion,  a  look  of  displeasure  passed 
over  his  face,  and  he  abruptly  left  me.  I  was 
agreeably  surprised  when,  on  more  than  one  occa- 
sion, he  sent  me  a  substantial  token  of  good-will, 
but  I  was  never  able  to  analyze  the  motive  that 
prompted  him  to  do  so.  This  remembrance  soft- 
ens the  feelings  with  which  these  lines  are  penciled. 
He  went  to  San  Francisco,  but  there  was  no  change 
in  his  life. 

"  It  is  the  old  story,"  said  an  acquaintance  of 
whom  I  made  inquiry  concerning  him:   "he  has 


278  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

a  large  and  lucrative  practice,  and  the  gamblers 
get  all  he  makes.  He  is  getting  gray,  and  he  is 
failing  a  little.  He  is  a  strange  being." 

It  happened  afterward  that  his  office  and  mine 
were  in  the  same  building  and  on  the  same  floor. 
As  we  met  on  the  stairs,  he  would  nod  to  me  and 
pass  on.  I  noticed  that  he  was  indeed  "failing." 
He  looked  weary  and  sad,  and  the  cold  or  defiant 
gleam  in  his  steel-gray  eyes  was  changed  into  a 
wistful  and  painful  expression  that  was  very  pa- 
thetic. I  did  not  dare  to  invade  his  reserve  with 
any  tender  of  sympathy.  Joyless  and  hopeless  as 
he  might  be,  I  felt  instinctively  that  he  would  play 
out  his  drama  alone.  Perhaps  this  was  a  mistake 
on  my  part:  he  may  have  been  hungry  for  the 
word  I  did  not  speak.  God  knows.  I  was  not 
lacking  in  proper  interest  in  his  well-being,  but  I 
have  since  thought  in  such  cases  it  is  safest  to 
speak. 

"What  has  become  of  B ?"  said  my  land- 
lord one  day  as  we  met  in  the  hall.  "  I  have  been 
here  to  see  him  several  times,  and  found  his  door 
locked,  and  his  letters  and-  newspapers  have  not 
been  touched.  There  is  something  the  matter,  I 
fear." 

Instantly  I  felt  somehow  that  there  was  a  trage- 
dy in  the  air,  and  I  had  a  strange  feeling  of  awe 
as  I  passed  the  door  of  B 's  room. 


AT  THE  END,  279 

A  policeman  was  brought,  the  lock  forced,  and 
we  went  in.  A  sickening  odor  of  chloroform  filled 
the  room.  The  sight  that  met  our  gaze  made  us 
shudder.  Across  the  bed  was  lying  the  form  of  a 
man  partly  dressed,  his  head  thrown  back,  his  eyes 
staring  upward,  his  limbs  hanging  loosely  over  the 
bedside. 

"Is  he  dead?"  was  asked  in  a  whisper. 

"No,"  said  the  officer,  with  his  finger  on  B 's 

wrist;  "he  is  not  dead  yet,  but  he  will  never  wake 
out  of  this.  He  has  been  lying  thus  two  or  three 
days." 

A  physician  was  sent  for,  and  all  possible  efforts 
made  to  rouse  him,  but  in  vain.  About  sunset  the 
pulse  ceased  to  beat,  and  it  was  only  a  lump  of 
lifeless  clay  that  lay  there  so  still  and  stark.  This 
was  his  death — the  mystery  of  his  life  went  back 
beyond  my  knowledge  of  him,  and  will  only  be 
known  at  the  judgment-day. 

One  of  the  gayest  and  brightest  of  all  the  young 
people  gathered  at  a  May-day  picnic,  just  across 

the  bay  from  San  Francisco,  was  Ada  D .    The 

only  daughter  of  a  wealthy  citizen,  living  in  one 
of  the  lovely  valleys  beyond  the  coast-range  of 
mountains,  beautiful  in  person  and  sunny  in  tem- 
per, she  was  a  favorite  in  all  the  circle  of  her  asso- 
ciations. Though  a  petted  child  of  fortune,  she 


280  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

was  not  spoiled.  Envy  itself  was  changed  into 
affection  in  the  presence  of  a  spirit  so  gentle,  un- 
assuming, and  loving,  She  had  recently  been  grad- 
uated from  one  of  the  best  schools,  and  her  graces 
of  character  matched  the  brilliance  of  her  pecu- 
niary fortune. 

A  few  days  after  the  May-day  festival,  as  I  was 
sitting  in  my  office,  a  little  before  sunset,  there  was 
a  knock  at  the  door,  and  before  I  could  answer 
the  messenger  entered  hastily,  saying: 

"  I  want  you  to  go  with  me  at  once  to  Amador 

Valley.  Ada  D is  dying,  and  wishes  to  be 

baptized.  We  just  have  time  for  the  six  o'clock 
boat  to  take  us  across  the  bay,  where  the  carriage 
and  horses  are  waiting  for  us.  The  distance  is 
thirty  miles,  and  we  must  run  a  race  against 
death." 

We  started  at  once :  no  minister  of  Jesus  Christ 
hesitates  to  obey  a  summons  like  that.  We  reached 
the  boat  while  the  last  taps  of  the  last  bell  were 
being  given,  and  were  soon  at  the  landing  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  bay.  Springing  ashore,  we  en- 
tered the  vehicle  which  wTas  in  readiness.  Grasp- 
ing the  reins,  my  companion  touched  up  the  spir- 
ited team,  and  we  struck  across  the  valley.  My 
driver  was  an  old  Californian,  skilled  in  all  horse- 
craft  and  road-craft.  He  spoke  no  wrord,  putting 
his  soul  and  body  into  his  work,  determined,  as  he 


AT  THE  END.  28 L 

had  said,  to  make  the  thirty  miles  by  nine  o'clock. 
There  was  no  abatement  of  speed  after  we  struck 
the  hills:  what  was  lost  in  going  up  was  regained 
in  going  down.  The  mettle  of  those  California- 
bred  horses  was  wonderful ;  the  quick  beating  of 
their  hoofs  upon  the  graveled  road  was  as  regular 
as  the  motion  of  machinery,  steam-driven.  It  was 
an  exciting  ride,  and  there  was  a  weirdness  in  the 
sound  of  the  night-breeze  floating  by  us,  and  ghost- 
ly shapes  seemed  looking  at  us  from  above  and 
below,  as  we  wound  our  way  through  the  hills, 
while  the  bright  stars  shone  like  funeral -tapers 
over  a  world  of  death.  Death!  how  vivid  and 
awful  was  its  reality  to  me  as  I  looked  up  at  those 
shining  worlds  on  high,  and  then  upon  the  earth 
wrapped  in  darkness  below!  Death!  his  sable 
coursers  are  swift,  and  we  may  be  too  late !  The 
driver  shared  my  thoughts,  and  lashed  the  panting 
horses  to  yet  greater  speed.  My  pulses  beat  rap- 
idly as  I  counted  the  moments. 

"Here  we  are!"  he  exclaimed,  as  we  dashed 
down  the  hill  and  brought  up  at  the  gate.  "It  is 
eight  minutes  to  nine,"  he  added,  glancing  at  his 
watch  by  the  light  of  a  lamp  shining  through  the 
window. 

"She  is  alive,  but  speechless,  and  going  fast," 
said  the  father,  in  a  broken  voice,  as  I  entered  the 
house. 


282  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

He  led  me  to  the  chamber  of  the  dying  girl. 
The  seal  of  death  was  upon  her.  I  bent  above 
her,  and  a  look  of  recognition  came  into  her  eyes. 
Not  a  moment  was  to  be  lost. 

"  If  you  know  me,  my  child,  and  can  enter  the 
meaning  of  what  I  say,  indicate  the  fact  if  you 
can." 

There  was  a  faint  smile  and  a  slight  but  signifi- 
cant inclination  of  the  fair  head  as  it  lay  envel- 
oped with  its  wealth  of  chestnut  curls.  With  her 
hands  folded  on  her  breast,  and  her  eyes  turned 
upward,  the  dying  girl  lay  in  listening  attitude, 
while  in  a  few  words  I  explained  the  meaning  of 
the  sacred  rite  and  pointed  her  to  the  Lamb  of  God 
as  the  one  sacrifice  for  sin.  The  family  stood 
round  the  bed  in  awed  and  tearful  silence.  As 
the  crystal  sacramental  drops  fell  upon  her  brow 
a  smile  flashed  quickly  over  the  pale  face,  there 
was  a  slight  movement  of  the  head — and  she  was 
gone !  The  upward  look  continued,  and  the  smile 
never  left  the  fair,  sweet  face.  We  fell  upon  our 
knees,  and  the  prayer  that  followed  was  not  for 
her,  but  for  the  bleeding  hearts  around  the  couch 
where  she  lay  smiling  in  death. 

Dave  Douglass  was  one  of  that  circle  of  Ten- 
nesseans  who  took  prominent  parts  in  the  early 
history  of  California.  He  belonged  to  the  Sum- 


AT  THE  END,  283 

ner  County  Douglasses,  of  Tennessee,  and  had  the 
family  warmth  of  heart,  impulsiveness,  and  cour- 
age, that  nothing  could  daunt.  In  all  the  polit- 
ical contests  of  the  early  days  he  took  an  active 
part,  and  was  regarded  as  an  unflinching  and  un- 
selfish partisan  by  his  own  party,  and  as  an  open- 
hearted  and  generous  antagonist  by  the  other.  He 
was  elected  Secretary  of  State,  and  served  the  peo- 
ple with  fidelity  and  efficiency.  He  was  a  man  of 
a  powerful  physical  frame,  deep-chested,  ruddy- 
faced,  blue-eyed,  with  just  enough  shagginess  of 
eyebrows  and  heaviness  of  the  under-jaw  to  indi- 
cate the  indomitable  pluck  which  was  so  strong  an 
element  in  his  character.  He  was  a  true  Doug- 
lass, as  brave  and  true  as  any  of  the  name  that 
ever  wore  the  kilt  or  swung  a  claymore  in  the  land 
of  Bruce*  His  was  a  famous  Methodist  family  in 
Tennessee,  and  though  he  knew  more  of  politics 
than  piety,  he  was  a  good  friend  to  the  Church, 
and  had  regular  preaching  in  the  school-house 
near  his  farm  on  the  Calaveras  River.  All  the 
itinerants  that  traveled  that  circuit  knew  "Doug- 
lass's School-house"  as  an  appointment,  and  shared 
liberally  in  the  hospitality  and  purse  of  the  Gen- 
eral— (that  was  his  title). 

"  Never  give  up  the  fight !"  he  said  to  me,  with 
flashing  eye,  the  last  time  I  met  him  in  Stockton, 
pressing  my  hand  with  a  warm  clasp.  It  was 


284  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

while  I  was  engaged  in  the  effort  to  build  a  church 
in  that  place,  and  I  had  been  telling  him  of  the 
difficulties  I  had  met  in  the  work.  That  word  and 
hand-clasp  helped  me. 

He  was  taken  sick  soon  after.  The  disease  had 
taken  too  strong  a  grasp  upon  him  to  be  broken. 
He  fought  bravely  a  losing  battle  for  several  days. 
Sunday  morning  came,  a  bright,  balmy  day.  It 
was  in  the  early  summer.  The  cloudless  sky  was 
deep-blue,  the  sunbeams  sparkled  on  the  bosom  of 
the  Calaveras,  the  birds  were  singing  in  the  trees, 
and  the  perfume  of  the  flowers  filled  the  air  and 
floated  in  through  the  open  window  to  where  the 
strong  man  lay  dying.  He  had  been  affected  with 
the  delirium  of  fever  during  most  of  his  sickness, 
but  that  was  past,  and  he  was  facing  death  with 
an  unclouded  mind. 

"I  think  I  am  dying/'  he  said,  half  inquiringly. 

"  Yes — is  there  any  thing  we  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

His  eyes  closed  for  a  few  moments,  and  his  lips 
moved  as  if  in  mental  prayer.  Opening  his  eyes, 
he  said: 

"Sing  one  of  the  old  camp-meeting  songs." 

A  preacher  present  struck  up  the  hymn,  "Show 
pity,  Lord,  O  Lord  forgive." 

The  dying  man,  composed  to  rest,  lay  with  folded 
hands  and  listened  with  shortening  breath  and  a 
rapt  face,  and  thus  he  died,  the  words  and  the  mel- 


AT  THE  END.  285 

ody  that  had  touched  his  boyish  heart  among  the 
far-off  hills  of  Tennessee  being  the  last  sounds  that 
fell  upon  his  dying  ear.  We  may  hope  that  on 
that  old  camp-meeting  song  was  wafted  the  prayer 
and  trust  of  a  penitent  soul  receiving  the  kingdom 
of  heaven  as  a  little  child. 

During  my  pastorate  at  Santa  Kosa,  one  of  my 
occasional  hearers  was  John  I .  He  was  dep- 
uty-sheriff of  Sonoma  County,  and  was  noted  for 
his  quiet  and  determined  courage.  He  was  a  man 
of  few  words,  but  the  most  reckless  desperado 
knew  that  he  could  not  be  trifled  with.  When 
there  was  an  arrest  to  be  made  that  involved  spe- 
cial peril,  this  reticent,  low- voiced  man  was  usually 
intrusted  with  the  undertaking.  He  was  of  the 
good  old  Primitive  Baptist  stock  from  Caswell 
County,  North  Carolina,  and  had  a  lingering  fond- 
ness for  the  peculiar  views  of  that  people.  He 
had  a  weakness  for  strong  drink  that  gave  him 
trouble  at  times,  but  nobody  doubted  his  integrity 
any  more  than  they  doubted  his  courage.  His 
wife  was  an  earnest  Methodist,  one  of  a  family  of 
sisters  remarkable  for  their  excellent  sense  and 
strong  religious  characters.  Meeting  him  one  day, 
just  before  my  return  to  San  Francisco,  he  said, 
with  a  warmth  of  manner  not  common  with  him : 

"I  am  sorry  you  are  going  to  leave  Santa  Kosa. 


286  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

You  understand  me,  and  if  anybody  can  do  me 
any  good,  you  are  the  man." 

There  was  a  tremor  in  his  voice  as  he  spoke,  and 
he  held  my  hand  in  a  lingering  grasp. 

Yes,  I  knew  him.  I  had  seen  him  at  church  on 
more  than  one  occasion  with  compressed  lips  strug- 
gling to  conceal  the  strong  emotion  he  felt,  some- 
times hastily  wiping  away  an  unbidden  tear.  The 
preacher,  when  his  own  soul  is  aglow  and  his  sym- 
pathies all  awakened  and  drawn  out  toward  his 
hearers,  is  almost  clairvoyant  at  times  in  his  per- 
ception of  their  inner  thoughts.  I  understood  this 
man,  though  no  disclosure  had  been  made  to  me 
in  words.  I  read  his  eye,  and  marked  the  wishful 
and  anxious  look  that  came  over  his  face  when  his 
conscience  was  touched  and  his  heart  moved.  Yes, 
I  knew  him,  for  my  sympathy  had  made  me  re- 
sponsive, and  his  words,  spoken  sadly,  thrilled  me, 
and  rolled  upon  rny  spirit  the  burden  of  a  soul. 
His  health,  which  had  been  broken  by  hardships 
and  careless  living,  began  to  decline  more  rapidly. 
I  heard  that  he  had  expressed  a  desire  to  see  me, 
and  made  no  delay  in  going  to  see  him.  I  found 
him  in  bed,  and  much  wasted. 

"I  am  glad  you  have  come.  I  have  been  want- 
ing to  see  you,"  he  said,  taking  my  hand.  "  I  have 
been  thinking  of  my  duty  to  God  for  a  good  while, 
and  have  felt  more  than  anybody  has  suspected. 


AT  THE  END.  287 

I  want  to  do  what  I  can  and  ought  to  do.  You 
have  made  this  matter  a  study,  and  you  ought  to 
understand  it.  I  want  you  to  help  me." 

We  had  many  interviews,  and  I  did  what  I  could 
to  guide  a  penitent  sinner  to  the  sinner's  Friend. 
He  was  indeed  a  penitent  sinner — shut  out  from 
the  world  and  shut  in  with  God,  the  merciful  Fa- 
ther was  speaking  to  his  soul,  and  all  its  depths 
were  stirred.  The  patient,  praying  wife  had  a 
wishful  look  in  her  eyes  as  I  came  out  of  his  room, 
and  I  knew  her  thought.  God  was  leading  him, 
and  he  was  receptive  of  the  truth  that  saves.  He 
luid  one  difficulty. 

"I  hate  meanness,  or  any  thing  that  looks  like 
it.  It  does  look  mean  for  me  to  turn  to  religion 
now  that  I  am  sick,  after  being  so  neglectful  and 
wicked  when  I  was  well." 

"That  thought  is  natural  to  a  manly  soul,  but 
there  is  a  snare  in  it.  You  are  thinking  what  oth- 
ers may  say,  and  your  pride  is  touched.  You  are 
dealing  with  God  only.  Ask  only  what  will  please 
him.  The  time  for  a  man  to  do  his  duty  is  when  he 
sees  it  and  feels  the  obligation.  Let  the  past  go — 
you  cannot  undo  it,  but  it  may  be  forgiven.  The 
present  and  an  eternal  future  are  yours,  my  friend. 
Do  what  will  please  God,  and  all  will  be  right." 

The  still  waters  were  reached,  and  his  soul  lay 
at  rest  in  the  arms  of  God.  O  sweet,  sweet  rest! 


288  CALIFORNIA  SKETCHES. 

infinitely  sweet  to  the  spfrit  long  tossed  upon  the 
stormy  sea  of  sin  and  remorse.  O  peace  of  God, 
the  inflow  into  a  human  heart  of  the  very  life  of 
the  Lord !  It  is  the  hidden  mystery  of  love  divine 
whispered  to  the  listening  ear  of  faith.  It  had 
come  to  him  by  its  own  la\v  when  he  was  ready  to 
receive  it.  The  great  change  had  come  to  him — it 
looked  out  from  his  eyes  and  beamed  from  his  face. 
He  was  baptized  at  night.  The  family  had 
gathered  in  the  room.  .  In  the  solemn  hush  of  the 
occasion  the  whispers  of  the  night-breeze  could  be 
heard  among  the  vines  and  flowers  outside,  and  the 
rippling  of  the  sparkling  waters  of  Santa  Rosa 
Creek  was  audible.  The  sick  man's  face  was  lu- 
minous with  the  light  that  was  from  within.  The 
solemn  rite  was  finished,  a  tender  and  holy  awe 
filled  the  room ;  it  was  the  house  of  God  and  the 
gate  of  heaven.  The  wife,  who  was  sitting  near  a 
window,  rose,  and  noiselessly  stepped  to  the  bed, 
and  without  a  word  printed  a  kits  on  her  hus- 
band's forehead,  while  the  joy  that  flushed  her 
features  told  that  the  prayer  of  thirty  years  had 
been  answered.  We  sung  a  hymn  and  parted  with 
tears  of  silent  joy.  In  a  little  while  he  crossed 
the  river  where  we  may  mingle  our  voices  again 
by  and  by.  There  is  not  money  enough  in  the 
California  hills  to  buy  the  memory  of  that  visit  to 
Santa  Rosa. 


